You break my heart, know. Even with these chemical bonds holding me together, these frail spiderwebs weaving around ventricles, you shatter them like a calm breeze, playing child, a secret told to the wrong set of ears.
The characters in (y)our plays [on words] are the crux of (y)our matters. We're all ancillary like stepping stones; pity (y)our destination begs leaving no stone unturned.
My stepping stones are tablets, though. 20mg doses of baby steps, crossing voids like I see in (y)our eyes. My mouth is cavernous, my throat the steps to hell (wide and steep and too easy to trip down). Each night - a crusade to save me. Each morning - a body count. One. Good enough for me.
Each time I sign on - the body count grows.
I have a bad habit if writing poems that are too personal about people I don't really know. This is one of them, so I threw in a bit about myself for good measure.