Clotted Nerves

I am existing behind the sick cells of an ageing corpse, tormented by the vast unoccupied space. 

Waking with clotted nerves,
I stand to extinguish my vexation. 

I clutch my neck and calm my veins, 
Trying to focus on a simple life, 

Trying to gather the words... 

At first, they are solid, formed in steady paragraphs upon my lips, but just like a dream, they quickly turn to dust when approached. 

Can I go forth,
Trying to trap a feeling, 
Emotions that agitate the gathering storm. 

What is it that holds my form, 
What is it that enables me to push. 

Is it Fear? 

Fear of falling from the economic towers we build

Fear that my family could starve

I cannot remain in bed,
I know this. 
I cannot abstain from human contact. 

I must not, for I am a vision, a ready made dream, a person that knows every memory, of every human being who has lived and died. 

I am the constant tide, bored yet excited, knowing that earth will one day cease to exist, and just like all deaths, I am alive, because of this. 

I can say that I know. 
I can say it without hesitation 

And yet, before my eyes shut, I lock the doors, set the alarm, focus the cameras, with one goal 

To stay alive.