At the still point of the turning world, I wept.
Now, you don’t have to weep unless you have found the truth of life.
And stared at the naked abyss we call “precious life”
Only to realise that the blood that runs in its veins is nothing but illusions for plasma and inventions for RBC
That we have ingrained in its DNA,
To keep going, to keep pretending
that we can feel.
And that everything’s beautiful and nothing hurts.