This will be the death of me. The longer I go on, feeling cold to my bones, the more I am certain. I have made a home out of my suffering. I watch the candles burning. I plead to the gods, have mercy on me. I feel the air on my tongue. I taste his salt, his vinegar. I cannot ignore the truth any longer. Everyone laughs at me. Everyone wonders what will happen when the liver doesn\'t work. Everyone wonders why I breathe so heavily. I take the time to think before I respond. Ever since I\'ve been living in this body I\'ve disregarded every modicum of sense, turned lies into friends. Drinking syrup on a late night, consoling myself in these troubling times. I open myself and take out the heartbreak, sick of this repeating pattern. I order food to go, making promises in my Babel Tower. Hour by hour, I reflect on the past, licking my wounds. If a needle dropped at this moment it would be so remarkable that tears would swell, and I wouldn\'t think all this pain is because of you.