My chest trembles with coffee grounds and whooping coughs What is it that breathes? Is it my lungs or me? My hair hides a locked door and a small window I can see out but can't get through fully My hands are too cold to hold onto but you won't let me go
What is there to memorialize while I'm still alive? The body is a mistake. We spend our lives undoing what was made We've been built, but we're not complete We exist but are we worth remembering?