We are a vessel apart.
Our arms outstretched take shape,
Yet our fingers do not touch.
A circular pit holds our cells together.
That which carries our memories and burdens
Has traveled in our embrace
Like death on our backs.
In this vessel, we carry what our heart lacks.

Yet one can assume a pumping rot is not a heart.
Selfishness cancels the light and air like a drape,
And suddenly this vessel is our special crutch.
We lean to it ever so gently, as would a feather,
But just enough where we know for certain
Our lives have become misplaced.
We stand here alone, still, waiting to matter,
Hoping for the day our vessel will shatter.