My life is the toppled-over glass of water,
Impossible to recollect unless time can be rewound.
I hate this place but I can't leave,
Bounded by a paperless contract of obligation.
I am a broken Magic 8 ball,
My answers have even less meaning.
I am the descending snow mortalized,
Grounded then trampled black by thousands of feet.
Your words are like shit coming out of your intestines,
Fertilizing the pestilent weeds that strangle flowers.
I have become that insensitivity, the absence of
The tingling sensation when hot water runs over cold hands.
A person you deemed worthless
When did I die? I do not know.
