the blackness breathes in then out-
assumptions about death
the heart is beating slow, but hard.
and shades for eyes keep shutting,
not out of a want to sleep,
but in some manic sort
of resistance to artificial light.
freezing regardless of the temperature.
remembering a childhood friend
stomping on a baby turtle.
the muscles let go and so,
thoughts flow straight no more.
howling wind mirrors speech internalized.
(if only it was eternalized)
bowels empty again,
with no command.
and they say animals were made
for our amusement.