Parched and pink,
My lips’ dry skin
Peels to reveal red.
Shallow and chilled,
From lungs that I have killed;
Is the blue-white sheet, covering bone,
Stretched over cheeks.
Strands of brunette, brittle hair
Stroked by hands
Which are now weak.
Their nails almost fall;
Like I had in my darkest hours.
Veins now clean and running smooth,
And purple circles where tears store;
Circles framing my heart’s void.
Dead as I may seem,
Pupils always tell the truth,