Waste of time.

Superficial breaths - pallor on the cheecks

a corollary for unexpected agony.

Don't ask me how I feel,

I do not want to feel;

I locked the door and left the world outside.

No more pain to face - no happiness, no grace,

everything has turned in blessed apathy

where no fancy can delude

tossed between emotion and abuse;

I try to reach control but I have no flesh to hide

into, 

the more I observe

the less I deserve,

the more I emaciate

the less I appreciate

our waste of time; I gave myself away.

Love has its price - too high for me to pay.