through the use of some actions, you've made use of some of my organs
I don't complain
my third finger is claimed long ago by a band of gold
no complaint
your words etched in the wrinkles of my time
easy peasy
now with my legs encased in ice
can't walk
let me be, let me walk, let me breathe, let me be
Banksy said it best.
“When the time comes to leave, just walk away quietly and don't make any fuss.”