I've stopped breathing again.
Every vessel of my being
                shot
                     drained
As if that once longed icy needle has entered me
again.
        I don't need this.
Do I need this.
              My hands cracked and bloodied
They never seem to be clean enough.
It seems I've spent all of my time
                      decaying
                               waisting away.
Forgetting.
             That aching urge
of what had once secured me.
                     I feel trapped.
Bitten.
             I've been sucked into this 
 this misery.
If only I could have one
                             more
                                 shot.
My air could fill my lungs again
And my blue lips
could be pink.