The Body -

My chest trembles with coffee grounds and whooping coughs

What is it that breathes?

Is it my lungs or me?

My hair hides a locked door and a small window

I can see out but can’t get through fully

My hands are too cold to hold onto but you won’t let me go

What is there to memorialize while I’m still alive?

The body is a mistake

We spend our lives undoing what was made

We’ve been built, but we’re not complete

We exist but are we worth remembering?