A Masochist's Dance II: Seam ripper

A thousand cold showers have seen my corpse dragged through maggots, mould and lies
I could stop the dance here and lie in rot; I could kill all thoughts and meet my end tonight
That is, eternal decay, if this loss were a loss of life rather than at or in
However, my eyes are open and my lungs filled with air proper; many fluids still flow within me
Dead doesn't suit us

The needles I had swallowed ripped all flesh and mucosas on their way out
A metallic cling resounded in this thick atmosphere, and the echo froze me solid, yet unable to drown other voices
Unhygienic ungloved hands with dirt and blood under the nails, whose scars are but dramatic dents
I witness them like I've never witnessed before, shaking and strapped to the rusting chair
They broke into my every vein, crawled grossly to the arteries, and pulled vessels like weeds
The insides that were knots are now hanging distorted, disconnected and full of shards
A glass heart that choked and broke

And the lidocaine is gone, but the cyanide remains; each step, each breath hurts because it keeps on splitting
I gather its bits and pieces as I walk, they're as fragile as can humanly be
What, oh what, did you want from me?