Part infinity,
Your swelling puss bubble of "to just be" about to burst.
Part lividity,
The surface-tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Part pure beauty,
The fleeting moments you think you still have dreams.
Part fidelity,
As the blood seeps through the scab that time forgot.
Part contingency,
With suffering the only thing you'll ever be guaranteed.
Part monotony,
As you try to fill a grave with shit.
Part divinity,
The glimmer of something bigger than you that you clasp with your cold, dead hands.
Part humility,
When you know that what you see is definitely what you get.
Part anomally,
As your aspirations slip right between the lines.
Part finality,
