Hot wax will enclose on my freezing skin, and harden
Just as glass will coat my bleeding heart,
Becoming a lukewarm beverage for whoever decides to take a sip

Some may find the metallic taste of my blood dissatisfying
Yet it seems like they can’t help but to gulp it down
It’s okay though,
Being a husk isn’t as hard as you may think

I’ve stated prior that my blood has gotten thicker,
Along with the color dulling to a bold grey,
people seem to dislike the advancing substance of my heart

My husk being filled, I find it hard to connect my mind to my blood
Though my veins are filled again, my skin has gotten colder
The wax seems to be crumpling off as I move
Certain untouched pieces still clinging to me as I walk

I don’t know whether I like this or not…

Yeah, I can move my fingers
But everything I touch sends my nerve endings in a spiral

I feel myself pull away more violently than ever
My sense of focus sporadically moves from my lack of blood
And is now fixated on physical awarness

Don’t touch me

Eye’s flickering from surface to surface
Voices screaming that it doesn’t matter
The spikes of pain gouging at my heart and mind have numbed over the years

What is this sensation when I bleed?

The blood everyone wanted to get their hands on is spilling on the floor

But it’s gone stale, --rotten

Pores will shriek and shutter whilst the lukewarm paste consumes them
Molding another layer on my body, this one more sensitive than the last

Being made up of your own inner workings is frightening
A soft blow of the wind will send me into hysteria

Stop

Get Off Me

Let me return to a husk


© Marah Schneider