All
Through it all
Through veins and our bones
All
Through them all
Time plays its swathe notes
Time shall loose its hold
When the chill of white oblivion
Slowly claims us
I feel the grip tighten
We are the weight
On our own
Fading souls
We are the snails
Creeping on
Razors of bone
Weightless, amiss and flawed
We sprout, we turn, we mourn