I don't think I can do my life anymore.
Filament cracks are forming all over my skin
which is becoming dry to the touch, flaking away,
the man of clay is almost no more.
I ask you, what is the core of this being?
Is it just air that will no longer care about you or me or him?
Or is it bright light, a being of white, a god so secretly veiled,
Like the one so sorely impaled a long time ago?
Stay in touch, I'll let you know.