Wasting time, wasting life and spending air only to exchange for something dirtier.
   There is real blood inside my body, my bones might be cardboard but they're still strong and carry this body around.

Weak and frail, an unbreakable broken; beautifully horrible human being, that plays to lose, breaths to choke and begins life only learning to die.

Death, such a perfect simple release, a switch turned off, a moth frying in the desert sun. It's so easy to die.

   You can't translate me! You cannot read me! I'm not a book! I'm not a language you can understand!
   You cannot influence me! I am a wall, "I am a rock. I am an island."

Death can be such a simple game, nothing one can do can help you lose, nothing anyone can do can make you skip your turn. So roll the dice.

Life is simpler still, one only has to breathe... As heavy as that may seem just breathe.

Death, still seeming so convenient, will have to wait...