I always return to the mirror which once defined me.
Tracing the fractures until my palms weep crimson.
No longer is my pain defined by my fading scars,
The internal abuse now found in my silence.
To asphyxiate oneself is a gruesome act.
But if I am to choke now on my own,
May my soul rot as a recluse.
For I am most delightful,
When I become less.