The living corpse

I died very early in my journey—

Aged to see, not to be—

I became an expert on living,

Because it never came to me.

Hidden away, I become known

To the ends of my beginnings only,

Locked the day I would awaken,

Existing in my head as all uncomely.

I lost before I passed the line,

and now my ends are winning near,

Waiting. . . for shutdown to finally clear,

Waiting. . . for this slumber to deliberately disappear.

Nothing ever came to me but acceptance,

Losing in life, which they’ve given us.

I died and fell much further—gradually every day,

I became the living corpse, always underway.