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Contention. Eyes listless in the swell of aging flesh,
constantly haunted by reflections of the life you could never lead.
You’re not climbing any ladder. You’re binding in forevermore.
There are woodworms eating through
everything that defines you as you.
There are holes in every aspect of your current being,
it’s a failing institution and a lack of egress.
Now you move more like a spider, bound like a filthy rat.
At the end of this road, you will find nothing.
I can see it and I can feel it. Loosening the hinges on reality.

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