Preserved

Fluid swims around me in a clear motion.
Circling as it blurs my vision.
Chilling my bones to their hallow marrow,
I float in this thick choking fluid.

My skin is as plump as fresh fruit.
It neither ages nor bruises,
But the reaper has met it.
Preserved but gone just the same. 

Unharmed I am in my glass case.
Without bruises or scars.
A perfect gem without room for tarnish,
But where is the life I lived?

I cannot live in this case.
Doubt is what lives in this fluid,
But trust lives in this body.
How can I live without Trust?
How can I live behind this glass?