Knotted

Another tragedy

New star in the firmament of my chest cavity

Have no pity for me, just let me be

with all these works of mine

None profane, none divine

No shrine in the fireplace

No heaven, no hell

just the stench, the smell, the carapace

A trace of life, a scrap of lace, chemical compounds

Not a single word can be deemed profound,

nothing anchored to the ground

no sight, no sound, no touch

Just cells knowing too little about too much

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