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.

Sentient catastrophe,
Can't you see that you've broken me?

The joy received from wicked twists
Have drained all marrow from my wrists
And soon I'll just be skin and bone,
Paralysed by paths you alone condone.

Puppet master, I have no choice
But to repress my emotions,
Since you gave no chord that gives me voice.

Is this what you wished? A hollow life in motion
Unable to rebel against your pulling strings?
Is it because you know what your intention brings?

Thread barer, am I ever free?
Is there ever a loosened grip
That grants my moves identity?

No, like a whip you keep on cracking away,
Tapping into my spine as you lead astray
My standing vessel that has already died.
So to my internal hope, my hands are tied.