About Me - Who has not yet died

My hands are sewn together from shards of broken glass,

In which every time i touch, there’s a risk that they will smash,

And although the pearls of my eyes were manifested from ash,

Each of my movements are outweighed by their shattering backlash
 

I struggle to be this delicate, as to not break my bones,

So my mouth is a word cemetery, my teeth the gravestones,

Do I suffer in silence since I’m afraid to speak my unknowns?

It’s an avaricious, malicious sport of who owns the most thrones

To bide my solitude, I listen, the thrum of those who don’t break,

Their blood does flow in rivers, in which my mind is a lake,

And the estuaries and bends, I follow the paths they do take,

splintered ribs litter my bedroom floor, my morbid keepsake

My lungs ache with the weight of all the lives I’ve failed to lead,

And deep in my heart I feel the familiar prick of the seed,

The one that obstructs my breathing, my life it does impede,

My hands have forgotten when they signed this deadly creed

They say to pick your battles, so I lay down my pride,

My spine is the spectacle of my white flag, the least dignified,

I see the devil in the mirror, sad mouthed and blue eyed,

I’m married to my adversary, my reflection is my bride

It is the sweetness of the fruit that will stop your heart,

The colours of my suffering makes the gentlest art,

And the stars woven in my skin make a navigational chart,

so from my brittle body my soul finds the strength to depart.