last night i realized
my excitement for
events that were
not yet my life.
upon return,
it's all in the past,
it's all a memory.
all my life is,
is this moment,
and what i can remember.
what i cannot see,
does not exist,
and to think i
would have mourned.
i fell in love with life.
what i cannot see
does not exist.
all my life is memories.
to last night?
we're shells.
we're nothings.
I'm about to step back from this monstrous thing that brings the pain, as red tears pour down like rain. Explain to me atrocities so that I might understand why it's out of my hands. Nobody dies of old age, the body just shuts down in stages.
Faceplates engraved on the graves while bodies are saved hoping to save different faces in similar places. As they're packed tight with ice on flights to fight the plight of a night where organs failed. Doctors and family members, panicked, are awaiting the mail. The cargo of a crate nailed closed, holding the keys to a mans soul -
An organ in a Styrofoam box just trying to keep cold. Behold the key to a life of cop esthetics, to systematically replace all my body parts with prosthetics. But ethics set this apart, so I rip charts from the start When all I really need is a heart full of cheer in a place where there's no need for fearing hearing clocks tick-tock,
unless it's as a warning of crocs who took the hand of a man who could never stand - Pan.
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