Through a fit of hysterics...

Her skin went a shade whiter than bleached rice. She wrapped her arms across her torso.
"From the inside. My insides are burning. Hold myself. Glue. That's what I need."
Her eyes rolled and squinted. She reminded me of Harry's crushed Blood Hound moments before dad blew the air out of him into the stratosphere with his pistol. Desperate for closure from the pain, the dog had pitifully licked dad's steel toed boot, his sad eyes reflecting the agony words couldn't express- even if he had them at his disposal.
Fierce drops of sweat contaminated tears spilled onto her clenched fists. When I was young and alive, I remember a brightly colored toy with a fat smile plastered on it's face. If pressure were applied to the hand of the creature, it would violently shake and vibrate like a tsunami were breaking through it's fur. Looking at her, I wondered if a person could really break so hard on the inside pieces of them could leak onto the outside.
"Can't breathe. Dying by living." She wheezed through a fit of hysterics. "You're killing me." More hysterics. I guess I missed the punch line. In this room, nothing left a chuckle but the flames accompanying regret.
I wasn't sure if it was my attempt to respond to her, or the rocking of her body, but I thought I heard a dusty whisper say, "I'm dying." Soft as I came, I left. Orbiting the room, I noticed mushrooms squeezing themselves between the rotting floorboards.
My eyes would have touched the flesh on the inside of my head if I had had any. They rolled in their sockets, and my stomach dry heaved at the brilliance of the realization: Mine hadn't been a victimless crime.