This Is No Longer My Fault.

This is about me dieing, in a sense.

I sit here in my orb of goodness and peace
Yet as I exhale I feel no release.
I find myself choking on unbearable heat
And realize that yes, this is my defeat.

My words are locked and stuck deep within
My malcontent body and drenched in sin.
I don't know how nor do I know what or why
My self ridden fevers supply me to die.

I stop eating carbs and I stopped eating fats
Now I feast on maggot infested sewer rats.
"I like this diet better, it's better.."
I tell myself this in my narrated letter.
"It is one incredible week
If I stop now, it will be bleak,
And we know what that means,
I'll be full of vaccines and now machines
Are taking over my face."

I like it better when my face is numb
When my problems result with no sum
I don't know where I'm coming from
But I do know, I do know where
I've begun.

It starts with Why
And ends with You.