Vacuum limbed you limp listlessly.
Your only joy the cancerous wisps
that so warmly cuddle your shivering lungs.
Reservoir eyed you penetrate past beauty
observing only the void that lies distant
and heaven bound;
where the sun rises; that gaseous devil
whose rays scratch your bloodless,
grey skin bestially.
Retreating to your landfill,
you await the grievous comfort,
the deafening quiet of dark,
where occurs the weeping
of glistening, scarlet tributaries
and the embrace of weak hands
to tear eroded face.
Your monoxide breaths raise,
laboriously, a bruised chest
once broad and powerful,
now pained wishing to stay
sunken and vacant.
A crackled, old vinyl voice projects,
rarely, off astringent tongue.
Hurling spleen or singing redemption.
What a waste of oxygen.
All futile efforts pile into one,
into a nervous tap of the foot
that, like ticking clock,
counts the seconds
until my stone heart is eaten to dust.