I’ll crumble, at my own rotten hands
A fate better than the wrath
Of traitorous friends

I live to implode
To unravel myself
At the hour of my choosing
When I can squeeze nothing more
From this life

Desolation awaits for me
When the wires in my mind
Have frayed
And my voice grows tired and shrill

That hour is mine
To fill with the trinkets
With the few joys, I hardly knew