I am eyes
wearing a meatsuit
Porous existence
reflects us all
We are flesh
trying to surpass
Life, the life
stirring underneath
Everything we do
is futile comfort
Cold surpasses flesh,
cuts to the bone
Wonder cut short
by dreaded mortality
All our lives
have no meaning;
our death does
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem