Atoms.

Swirling together in cluttered cosmos.

My bones are made of milk past its prime.

My blood is made of cheap strawberry wine.

A bragging pulse.

I am still alive.

Only to verify

That I cannot die-

Not when I wanted to.

Not this time.

My lineage is humble, Daddy committed suicide.

I was ten, not yet fermented, unpasteurized.

I live for everyone else, to satisfy

Caught in a web of aspirations and lies.

Immortality in the form of

Molecules molded to imperfection,

Heartbeats and cries.