Poem
In a corner of my mind,
A small creature,
Nibbles at me gently,
And I slowly die.
The small creature has
Grown and has taken everything from me
Except for my heart, which
Has held on, and survived
Survival which takes up all
My energy, (which [the survival]) proudly
Eats me whole
Gobbles me up, marrow and all, eats my hope.
-Stop it
