I’m suffocating And I can feel the noose tight around my neck Choking, gasping I don’t recognize the hands The skin is old, the nails ***** As if from digging out of their own grave I reach up, and grasp And feel the rope slipping from between my fingertips The hands are my own But I cannot feel I can’t feel anything but The bite of knife tips against my skin Imagined, or not I can feel it Etching lines like Fault lines across ceramic I am untempered glass On the verge, waiting to shatter I am shattering Shuddering, shaking Shattered And waiting in the silence For when I can no longer hold my breath The small breeze Will blow the fragments and dust away