parts

I.
the blood in my veins, on my lips,
it belongs to someone else,
a stranger sitting quiet and complacent.
stretching the skin, drawing lines
with faded chalk within.
waiting, waiting.

II.
this air in my lungs,
used to taste so right
a suffocating backwards battle,
to stop the inevitable inside.
it’s colder now, sharper,
frostbite on the rib bones,
the air is rising, rising.

III.
you fight your own reflection,
you fight your own future,
you fight your own life.
twisted and severed neurones
try and hold your thoughts still,
still and quiet and complacent.

waiting, waiting, in parts. 
it's like your very insides torn in two.