I am this ticking time bomb
Walking amongst friends and loved ones unaware.
A mish-mash of materials:
Fleshy milk-bone shrapnel.
I am this perfectly flawed design,
Birthed into failure,
Each muscular beat pushing and
Shoving against the gravity of mortality.
I am this heart-attack waiting to happen,
A pressure cooker of damned arteries
Primed to blow. I am this explosion
Of misery and salty tears,
Of mothers’ laments and wives’ woeful mourning.
I am the stagger of pall-bearers
Shouldering a pine box filled with ruins.
Even with this consciousness
I can’t help but feel
Simply a transfer of energy
With this earthly piece lost to the heat of entropy.
Won’t you collapse with me?