this has kinda been rattling inside my head for awhile now....
blood does not flow through my veins,
but words and memories and little tidbits of growing pains
fill my body and collide with my blood cells like a miniscule ocean
so much commotion in this body of mine,
this heart tick tock ticking counting down the time
till the workers carry their lunch pails out from the underground world of filth and grime
and im ferried off to eternally deal with my internal guilts and crimes
this is not breath leaving my lungs
but whispers of tomorrow and of the farther futures to come
this is not air escaping my lips,
but a wind traveling to the four corners of the earth
telling the world of my time suffered against life's barbed whips,
this is not breath leaving my body,
but a deflated reflection of the world against the heavy bottom of my soul.
this not stiffness taking over my bones,
but my muscles simply leaving well enough alone,
this is not death that my appearance reeks of,
just the poetry written from a life well lived
and the living,having had their years,
being called on from what comes after here.