Rust Reformer is on Aisle 9

My chest lies open most days,
My heart rusts when it rains,
Eyes permanently set to 'Record',
Nose, running, like it's a marathon,
My mouth is a hand grenade,
Mom lost the pin praying for me to to be able to talk,
'Front toward enemy' should be on my forehead in black ink,
Now I can't quit fragmenting myself,
Like a high explosive martyr,
I want to sleep more,
Work less,
Write more,
There are too many days where I want to drop everything I have,
In the name of everything I wish to be,
And I can't decide on whether or not to push the button,
If I do will I blast off or explode on the launchpad?

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