Drip, drip at my temple.
my eyes weak and echoes of “whipple.”
tremors from mechaninical devices,
I know not why I am here,
or how I came.

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locked in a box, with a symbol of no name,
no recollection of how this came to pass..
seeing you would be my last..
a dying wish I can not ponder..
absense makes the heart grow fonder..

remember me as I was, not what I have become..
love all that you can, keep it still..
no she can’t take this away..
all the history that we have made..

memories circulate my mind,
with each finger snipped,
I become a cripple..
here’s to life, and all I left behind,
a blood pool of my mortal coil…

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