I don't really know. The showing  game played finger fiddle on the dry dock. Know no crab heart. Speak no sympathy. Win an award for me. Tremble softly at the temple's mouth. Before the soft southern winds blow fine candle flame flickers on the wall. Stood there all sobriety & soft arms. No death for those unborn, tried again & spent tireless hours gnawing at applications. Wonder why the stack showed signs of sympathy. The *** stands ready at the gates of eternity. a single trembling finger reaches out past the event horizon of infinity. All of the molecules in the ***'s body shudder and come apart. He is a disembodied mass of hovering electrons. Episodes from childhood play out like an old vaudeville show in the cold vacuum. Time Itself stops completely for the pouty-lipped black boy repeating rap lyrics like personal mantras of purpose. A living myth of purpose played out in rhyme. Time cut. Winter just kills me. Everything stops growing. Stops living. Cells cease replication. Hair doesn't grow. Nothing moves but the snowfall. The ******* all freeze.