crumbled, crumpled

crumbled, crumpled
like the drying cracks of skin
on the tip of your nose; flaking,
the way your lips crack.
shards of winter worn, bitterly
worded sentences –
the one you used and hated
then.
 
and the tick-tock of each muted breath.
the concave chest which slowly pounds,
suppresses the crumpled paper -
the crumbled sheets
that litter your sullen brow.
you’re bent out of shape;
a blotched up mess.
 
drink your beer and oxygen,
cold on your listless tongue.
blur the already sputtering mind
that gasps and heaves and tosses
out every moment never real
but reflected; an anecdote.
you walking tragedy.