I am a mess of habits, scooped with shaking hands like rusted pennies.
I breathe more nicotine than I do oxygen.
I bite my nails like that is the only way I can keep from clawing my skin off my bones.
The liquor bottles under my bed far outnumber the books on my shelf.
I am constantly shrinking myself, making room for the people I place around me,
Like a computer program running in the background.
I am shaping myself like clay around the space of those I hold dear.
Making myself small and building up everyone else.
The smoking and the drinking may **** me young,
But not before I shrink myself so small, I disappear.