I sit motionless
Unsure of my duration here
Creaking wood of chair and wall
Cobwebs coalesce before me

Rusted *** and rusted stove
The dance of tongue long gone
Shrieking creaking chair and wall
Inaudible like all else

I do not rock I do not weep
Only sit and think
Monotone present
Color past

Prime gone not forgotten
Our thunderous aches
Blood would spill sweat would fall
Gravity or time

Which has ceased it's draw?