The feeling of asphyxiation is warm,
a dull thud pulses in the tips of my fingers.
Nausea and exhaustion plague me,
washing over me like crashing waves.
My face is a blank canvas which
nobody wants to paint, or look at.
Holding back tears is hard
when they want to cause a flood.
Heart is beating slowly
but only because it has to: it doesn’t want to.
A thousand years will pass
and I will stay the same.
My mouth forms a thin line,
as if trying to keep these words inside.
Treacle Heart 