Pisaries Creator

My youth has grown old and I feel the pain.
It isn’t me to be this way, but this won’t go away.
I could curl into a human ball, roll me up the plank.
Let me wither away on my arms and legs.
Let my heart feel darkness on the rough waters.
Or, I might fall into the open mouth of the dirt.
Allow it to swallow me whole.
Keep my heart and lungs as treasures. 
I have no use for them.
My body could waddle into a casket.
There’s no use to maintain a feminine shape.
There’s no purpose to care.
Wish me good luck for no good reason.
My decay has been renewed.