59.

and I am only waiting for the noise to stop
and I am only waiting for the dark to come

you hate me
for saying
No
and I am so tired
of fighting
of snapping my bones
in half and pulling
the skin from my face

I am not made of leather
yet, I have not
aged into a weathered bark
I am still rough, too
raw and harsh
and easily burned

and bending, I am
folded into little squares
and squished
beneath a thousand blackened
boots

your game
is working

I am
losing