Wretched hive of flesh & bone.
Cellular makeups –
Trapping us in these frail mortal shells.
Carapaces to wear as carcinisations.
No armor made of Metaphor,
Can deny genetics,
Or flailing alleles.
My husk.
My home.
My prison.
Trapped behind these grey eyes,
In this slowly aging body,
Until my death.
My Husk. My Home. My Prison.
