This Rickety Hand

To suffocate takes my pain.
To drown or strangle with a rickety hand.
Not my hand, I say,
As my hand is employed by my blight.

Asinine I am,
For I continue to loosen my grip,
And allow myself to breathe.
The air so fraudulently fresh.
I breathe - and breathe - and breathe.
Oh, how I live without shadow!
I am free to live my life,
If only for but a moment.

To open up to any,
Would surely slay my merry soul,
And so I fear the worst,
At every corner I may turn.
The hearts of men are wicked,
So mine must be as well.

I stand a child,
Almost eighteen,
One who dares not love too much,
So she may never hurt.

In an attempt to free the past,
She swears to never move,
As the screams and tears,
Are far too much to bare.

To separate keeps me safe.
To strangle with this rickety hand.
Beware my coldness,
For it cannot be helped.
My heart has been broken most my life.
To save it from,
This awful fate,
I use my hand to suffocate.

I am a child,
Yet cold and dead.
I seem abrasive.
It acts as my shield.
To suffocate takes my pain.
To strangle, to struggle, to cry, to die,
But I feel no pain.