My mouth was closed and shut off.
Nothing ever left me, not a breath or a cough

There was no relief for me
Just a single driftwood lost at sea

Stagnant in growth as well as its function
Unable to process its thoughts; an ocean of disfunction

Absence was received and Absence was given
The spark of life suffocated by that malnutrition

Unable to receive and unable to give
I killed inklings of my self to “functionally” live

“Make it through this time to the next”, the dead man said
Not realizing this whole journey is in his head

Static in his mind until that next time
Believing that benign lie; Living their life like a mime

Pretending to touch, while looking for affirmation
Led his heart to rot in this voluntary desolation