Slash at my arms, my legs, my throat

What God is there to pray to 

that creates such emotions as this.

I pray.

To not feel, I search for a void to

I search for a void

I search for

I search

I

My flesh sits tightly bound across the tumultous.

What stoic exterior can possibly contain the scorching screams

of a soul as it crisps and flakes in the flames.

I cannot find a drug to sedate,

And I will suffocate inhaling the smoke of my own burning body.

The futile tears that fall down my face

are only my ice exoskeleton melting.