Why was I born a fool, created only to cause and receive heart ache
The smell of fabric sleeps against my skin, calling everyone to me
But one usually changes their bedding after a while

Cracks grow and spread until they reach my chest, letting me know that this is enough
Enough for me to survive
Yet why do I still ask for more?

I’m afraid to mould myself back together, into how I used to be
But is that what I want?
I let the air sink into the...