We all go around with such infinite worth,
But in liters of blood.

Necks exposed,
Bag of guts,
Heads afloat
Bones that crutch
...Backs that break
Skins that touch
Nothing matters,
Very much.

And it feels like everything
To each one of us.

Duck your mood,
That's a joke.
Make me smooth
When I choke
Unless I start
Choking you
Then I'm in need
Of a room.

But let's see if we can hold this thing up.
Blood and guts:
Do we have enough?