Nutritionless Meal

Aaah, my skin has flaked, my bones still ache.
A single look in the mirror and a few cracks break.
Is this really me or is it just some fake?
Aaah, who knows? Who knows?
Whether this construct of flesh can breathe like me,
Whether this construct of flesh can talk like me,
Whether this construct of flesh can think like me,
Or whether it is all without substance. A nutritionless meal.
Devoid of personality, devoid of rational, filled with simple plain anger, without complexities.
I lay down my drink shallow, a few mirages spin in the dusty mirror.
A foolish smile, a broken tooth, an aching liver.
I should really put down the drinks, what has become of me?