Time means nothing meaning I don’t exist
My fabric’s tattered my coating battered, my joy eclipsed
Hands bittersweet cold, shaped according to the mold
Piercing eyes fixed on a young girl headed on a stroll
We crumble before her and I ask her why
She replied there was nowhere to go but down or die
Another one bites the dust, a belief that life is a sandwich’s crust
I tilt my head to the man on the ledge
He says here come the feds and asks what dying’s like
Before I could nail the spike on the coffin he fled


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