Lie, on the pile of needles

Sometimes, I feel like a broken glass. Shattered all over the floor.
And there are days where I find myself breathing without a cause.
Always, but always will I feel the need to just close my eyes & block every sound polluting toxic, that I hear through my ears. And just sail away to my own tranquility.
To munch upon my own soul, that is nothing but a norm.
But to have you, as my drug aid is rare.
Nevertheless, I still continue on my slow suicide attempt, burying myself with another few more feet of ashes & tar.

I know, the time will come when I stop breathing. 

When my heart no longer make a pulse.

What a heartbreaking sight it will be, but a masochistic sight for my end of the straw. 

So I await, for my time to come.