through its veins the blood cells thunder
stomach groans with latent hunger
bones adjust and knuckles crack
tongue still red and pupils black,
blown, and staring at the ceiling
muscles clenching, both lungs heaving.
the creature’s will to live has gone
but it still marches blindly on,
a flesh-and-blood automaton.
the stupid thing forgets to eat
and hasn’t showered in a week
it spits in sun and cries in rain
and has only itself to blame.
the contents of its ugly head
have spilled upon the floor, and yet
despite the mind saying goodbye,
somehow the body will not die.
it crawls because it cannot run,
my flesh-and-blood automaton.