The Ambition Of Death

The cold morning light
Evasive and sterile
Burned on our skin
Our bodies perpetually futile
The seed of the day
Clubbed into our heads
Bloodied and in retort
We find our faces split in two
Our organs on show
Tongues flapping
Muscles contracting with
Precisely nothing to say
So we mourn the remains of our experience
A fade to white
Passionate exit

We rid ourselves of pretence
Rip out our spinal cords
And pray for dignity
But it never comes
And we never meet again
And it works