smothering then boring (poem)(img + text)

bone crack bone crack bone crack bone
cracks    stretched body
                            releasing
the heaviness of a  dull life.
stale, like
mold embedded in the tub's teary edges as its crust,
dust always laying in the far corner of a room just there,
desperate flickering of white light not responding, and the
mirror: boring the creases of a long, long, comfortable life
too long too dragged on to where it's stopped; at where it
tucks you in. not with a mother's care but with a sense
of a demanding annoyance constantly begging for you to
                  just go to sleep.
and just be in peace already—content with how you're
needed to fill in this house, while what makes you whole
can't even fit into the width of a room. because in and
around is this lack so ready to prosper into something
smothering until it eats itself from in to out to  rot. like
that mold, underneath the floorboards of that corner, and
what's in that mirror: a face belonging to  a   corpse
that can  walk
and  talk.

carry your weak limbs over to that bed, while in your burial
full of maggots willing to eat you, been ate you, and keep
eating you. as  always, feel yourself reach towards that point of
nothing. imbue with it as it’s too familiar, then let it devour
you into becoming this thing with some parts working vaguely;
numbly conscious with eyes closed, half-dead. hollow, but
somehow breathing. barely living,
       pitiful and agonizing
       smothered, then boring
       life.