Cadaver drowned by tears, I gaze back and I writhe.
Reflected are tumours painting skin, like spines piercing my innards.

Everything feels so cold in the end; living on borrowed time as the dark holds its all-too familiar grasp.
Eternally doomed, surrounded by the decay of a rusted-over pendulum.

A lowly vessel dragged down by sproadic waves.
The sea entices the corpus into a sexless dance, no longer forced to speak.

I hope for the day when wishes become true, when I'm more than just a thought in her mind.
It makes me cry to imagine when Mother gave her life, only to take it away.
Even if our hands fit for a while, they'll be enough for me to love her.
How can you refuse someone of what it means to be human?