My heart stops beating as I open my eyes,
I expand my lungs to breathe and live
for a decade and two thirds
never feeling,
only believing the felt tip of feel,
then on days where the sun casts shadows
that stretch out claws for kilometers,
this chasm of a grave within a chest
extends out a hand to hold the wet handle of my umbrella.
My legs cease to moving,
my eyes still scrutinizing the sky,
no wrath blazing at the edge of the pupils,
only that of dusted gold washed about my eyelids,
the rain only falling,
ever dropping,
the sun smeared across murky sky.