I cannot live
and yet I cannot die
I cannot stay a buried oyster
waiting to be found beneath the sea
Nor can I eat forever
on the dreams of lies
When the heart is pale and dead
the body, too, has died
Nor can I move in empty shadows
asking weakly in voices strange
all the quest-less, unimportant questions
of how? or why?
While all the seeming
motions of my lying body
are mere deceptions
to the brain
When the heart is pale and dead
the body, too, has died