Currently Untitled
Part I

It starts at a heart.
A thud, and it's an echo.
Throughout a body, a corpse, like a wave.
That breath of intake, a moment
To lapse away a day or time.
It flows, it pulsates, it lives.

This skin tingeing of some life, vibrating
As the wave's current moves
Athwart this stomach, atop this chest,
Down these arms, down these legs - these tired legs.
Never quite reaching those feet, Knees Being that block -
But it gets those hands. Always.

Ripples on my neck, around my back,
And my eyes shut.
I hunch, I spasm, I suffer and
Up and to the back of my head -
My hair stands straight end -
I know the best is over, I
Watch and wait and all that remains...

Is ache.

What does despair? Does despair at all?
That is despair, mine... mind them all.

Penned by my hand on the 5th of Severin, in the year 159 MA.