I, the tourniquet

i’ve fallen asleep with my limbs beneath me cutting off the blood with a tourniquet of apathy but apathy refuses to numb my churning emotion my useless limbs preventing any forward motion conscious that I am my own tourniquet, I lie here, needles press into my skin and disappear circulating my veins, pressing into my core pricking my heart until my soul is sore my body turns black with the death of hope this loss coils around my throat like a rope my blood is stilled, as is my breath my body, my mind, mimicking death What a dangerous game to play, for if i’m not careful, i’ll decay though my soul may rise or fall I pretend not to care at all