The sound a spirit makes when it Breaks

I’m dying
And this disease I have
The elixirs don’t work anymore
It’s the poisons that do
True, they hurt—so much
But only pain can numb this pain
That’s already here inside
 
The poisons don’t come in abundance though
Just in some precious little amounts
That I’m forced to find and gather
A pyrrhic quest that pushes me to the breaking point—and beyond
But a sweet torment in itself…
 
So many times, I’ve had to shrink myself,
So that I am little
And in, to the bottom of bottle after bottle I have crawled
Driven and desperate
Countless other times I’ve had to desecrate the forbidden gardens
Garden through garden I have gone
Setting them ablaze to buoy myself into the heavens,
Up there and back and up again
All this just seeking to collect my toxic manna
Without which I just can’t do this thing called life!
 
Of course, every dose of venom keeps demanding an even stronger dose
This pain is and will be the beginning and the end—the cure and the nemesis of me
And I won’t survive like this—goodness gracious, I will not!
All these things I do can only buy me a little more time
But I
Just don’t care
Anymore