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