Rotting away, each root pleading to be saved, feeding to your pain.

Causing tremors, your hands continuously shake, brings your jaw to increasingly scrape, grinding fiercely, aggravated, agitated to find numbness again and again, this maleficent task keeping you sane.

A slow climb into the tub, imagining what could run off, the shame and guilt if water would be able to wash away,

but the stains can never fade.

Scared onto you in a way, like a burn you couldn't escape.

You hesitantly turn on the light, ignorant of what's in sight. A life left to decay, as you begin to slur and sway.

Blame this desolation, wrapping itself around you, but a sobering glance at a dull reflection in the mirror shows the truth. Piercing in every way, avoiding, ignoring any sound of reason, longing to just escape, seeking any soporific way.

Seeking some relief in a daze, only finding desperate evidence of profitless attempts, smudges, unsatisfying imprints, finger tips harbor wretched residue, consistently searching, but always finding forlornness in the ash tray.

The throbbing you can't elude, as you bend to try and lay, a dream to help smother the reality, evidently you must face another day, until this feeling can permanently stray.

Your skin losing color, vitals become increasingly unapparent, at least the pain dissipates with the shame, as will the lonely tombstone heading placed on top of your derelict grave.