Everything in its right place…

For I live in ashes
In scattered bits of time
Inside cookie crumbles
and leftovers soaked in lime

Here everything is dysfonctional.
But nothing is a crime
We may still want to try
Whenever we’re unable to cry

Can we cry for help?

Help.

How could we?
This is a place with no echoes
No bursts of humour

I wonder how it feels not to be me
Not to be here?

In here,
Rust ate all of my joints
And this flesh of mine
got rotten.