I could disintegrate with a gust of wind.
My bones and body feel brittle and hollow;
Now a walking mausoleum of who I once was.
I used to feel comforted in my lonesome.
But the echoes reverberating off my walls
Sound like gunshots in the dead silence.
There is an ache but numbness in my chest,
A sting in my eyes yet no brimming tears.
A noted pointlessness to my very existence.
Still, I will light the candles for my vigil
And pray that when I set my world ablaze,
I may rise a phoenix from my ashes.
