Whispers and Echoes

human?

There's heaps of hope piled about in my room, there's loads more that I need to cough out.

How many times can you bury the same person?  I've coughed out hope, apologized to potential, set fire to optimism and devoured the spirit. What else remains in me?
When you see life slipping out your clutches, like a silk sheet you held on too tightly, how long can you cry for it? Or, in my case, how long can you blankly stare at it with stone eyes?

I don't have time to leave things to themselves, like other people. I'm desperate for something that gets me out. I'm desperate for some sort of revival. How long can a person like me exist without making noise?
For how long can a person like me tiptoe, whisper, and camouflage? Wince at slightest signs of her own liveliness? Inject numbness into her nerves and drink down her woes all alone?

For how long can a person like me insist on being like me when her actions lead one to believe otherwise?

For how long can a person like me insist on being a person?