Label: Void

I am walking glass.

Beautiful, clean, composed - and then: shattered.

I am a machine with a glitch.

I work, I live, I function normally - and then: WHAM

I am defective.

It is one look. A sight. A touch. A smell or sound,

and the knife plunges, twisting my heart, slashing open the scar that will never heal.

I am bleeding once again, the hole yawning open in throbbing cold numbness.

Tears fall heedlessly - but that is not enough.

I am moaning, shaking, gasping, trying to stay silent for an uncaring world.

For it is gone - and I am incomplete. 

The earth will continue turning, and I will continue as well,

pushing on to stay afloat in its icy waters.

But again and again the glass will shatter, the machine will freeze,

and I will stand, convulsing in utter excruciation.

For I am, and always will be,

crippled.

Source: personal pain and...well, deprivation.

Ingredients: destitution, hardship, absence, and powerful longing.