I have no excuse for the condition I'm in 

I was young, when I last felt a breeze, a change, Autumn

Did I dream of a life when my skin was not fused to the skies?

I can't breathe without praying my luck may turn 

My hope is stained crimson

My joy is drowned by vibrant blue and my hatred is carnivorous

I am lucky to not be trailed by buzzards, surrounded by something else that never leaves, only gazes upon my greatest burden. Hoping I'll fail, immortal, crushed, and alone, with no one left to catch the heavens