I’m afraid to sleep because you are what haunts me.
I have this bad habit of eating my own words.
Am I breaking down; am I even breathing?
Is my heart still beating?
Oh, if you’re alive then you’re a lucky one.
If you continue breathing without heaving
You might just make it out alive.
But you caused this, didn’t you?
You wrecked me and took my home.
But I’m still breathing in spite of you.
I’m not a lucky one, for I’ve lost it all.
A forgettable face, pale with life; graceless.
Most of us are bitter, but at least we’re still here...
At least we can feel anything at all.


I’ve spent so long picking my pieces up off the ground
That I can no longer stand.
My back is worn and splintered; my hands,
They’re cut to the bone.
The ground I stand on is still covered and I’m
Still missing pieces.
All of my parts falling, one after the other, with
Barely a moment to spare
Between picking one up and losing another.
Just picking my missing pieces up off the ground.
lmt