Masquerading cruelty as protection

You think you will win, because we are getting tired,
And sometimes when we walk, the bones in our ankles crack,
And you push on our back but

Truth

It is not my back. It is not my bones,
But we are still burning down, and
When your bones are on fire, my spirit melts into something I can't recognize.

What is that, swirling thing, doesn't anyone care who is on rafts anymore?