Naked

I have always loved deeply, I have always cared. I feel most alive when I can breathe life back into others on the brink of death. I rip pieces of my own soul to patch the wounds of others. I cut my hair and weave tapestries to keep strangers warm. I bare my naked body and give my passion over to the men that I desire most. I speak words of comfort until my lips are dry and cracked. I give and never receive because nothing is offered. After decades of this, what am I now? Nude, cold, breathless, speechless, bald and without a soul. With outstretched hands pleading for more, what do I have left to give? Nothing but what’s left of my body. A body that ages and dies a little more every day. This thought haunts my lonely nights. I know that one day  nobody will want my body, if there is even anything left to take. So I ask myself which is worse. Is having nothing left or being rejected the worse fate?