The numbers are sinking in again.
Sometimes the pangs are enjoyable.
I can’t stop looking at fragility, and the punishments have returned.
It’s hated, it’s welcomed; it’s taking over, and I can’t help but love it.
The total is all-important.
I know what it feels like to be wrecked by it, and I want it. I want to be consumed by it, and I guess that shows that I already am.
The sun lights up the leaves like fire: it’s so beautiful to be burning. 

Not quite all right,
I wanted it so much,
but then unwanted actions,
and it wouldn't stop,
only moving from where it wasn't wanted to shut me up,
dirty fingers covering my mouth,
an undesirable request,
and an inbuilt urge to continue to the end.