Shelter part 2

This is a continuation of a poem I named shelter. It captures a stay in a shelter that I have been with not to mention a battle that I've been fighting for a long time.

Slowly becoming a chainsmoker isn't much of a choice but a plight and a game over.

Sitting in the stairwell; all gray with its cool steel makes my voice bounce and vibrate feeling too real, all too real.

Tell me how time is a cranky and an old b****.
Only thing left or your taxes and a deathbed.
Whom shall I fear in the end but the death threats.
Cozy as queer and a blanket and a blue bed.
Now the forest is sickly
And the point is I'm tipping
In a moment there's 50.
And a warrant come get me.
And the seasons have froze
All my demons I'm told.
For anxiety fleas to not feeling one's toes.