My bones are brittle and I know they will break if I continue moving so carelessly. My heart is just as fragile; it will crack against my rib cage if I fall unwittingly. But what use are my bones and my heart when my mind has long been crushed along the walls of my skull; nothing but bloody pulp sloshing and splashing around. It’s funny how the world sees me as whole human being when, in reality, I am not even a quarter of the person I once thought I was.
I thought; but I never was and I never will be. I am just a mere anomaly, walking amongst the living when I should be with the dead.
My bones are brittle and my heart is just as fragile; yet I dance and love like they can withstand the strongest blows and highest falls. I want to hear the snap and crack of my bones as I pirouette. I want to see the bruising of my heart after I squeeze it betwixt my very own fingers. For there is peace in seeing my own person break down; if I am going to bleed, it will be at my own hands.
If I could, I would peel my skin off; slowly. Oh-so-torturously-slow. I would let my blood pool at my feet and let it stain. Then I would shred my raw muscles and leave them on the floor for the rodents to pick at. I would pull out my organs and throw them against the walls or out the windows for I no longer have any need of them.
I would leave my heart and my bones intact; with my mush of a brain, ebbing and flowing against the remainder of my sanity.
Just how brittle and fragile are my bones and my heart without the rest of me?