Marrow

A

His head, wilted down.

Sprawled across the bed.

His spine dead now.

Fingers faintly moving, like an injured spider.

Inhaling  the brewed air from the city's lungs.

A tear gracefully dancing towards doom.

"Ingratitude"- this void is full of it.

Condemn yourself for redemption.

'Oh, please, I am here'.

Reality electrifies my brain.

'Oh, my blood deoxygenates when you are near'.

Existential loneliness keeps me sane.

Then, his wrist elevates, dragging his hand behind.

His fingers falling down, contracted slightly;

Except his index, pointing to the grey wall.