I watch my arm hang off the edge of the bed and picture myself blue
Will of passion has been dead since before I even knew
Being human is to watch yourself decay
While you scramble to stop it
Grabbing glue to stick on skin
That's molded and rotten
Duct taping limbs
And using cork to hold back brains seeping from your mouth
It's getting hurried to the brink of death, yes just before, then being forgotten
To stare at the finish line without means of motion for an eternity