It is a hollow hole.
The clicking sound
ticking down
is not my heart.
Instead inside,
I find the truth
to **** the lie,
that hope is an illusion and
order is an addictive and
overly optimistic delusion.

That the fleshy thing
I thought was beating
sending blood and energy
through me
was just a bomb
waiting to blow
laying me low
so I would know;

That we dance on strings,
not made of god’s energy
or fated things,
but thin golden lines
of our own mortality.

We evolved to be
nothing but
corpses in clothes,
whose flesh feeds
the next generation
which needs our particles
to grow.