Can't Breathe

I can't breathe properly.

Little sections of life,

drawn into my body,

and drawn out as life,

that's been purified.

I can't breathe properly.

Is it fair that my creator lied?

On the blueprints for my body.

I was never meant to sustain

all of this life

that's been purified.

But I was drawn out

into little sections,

that can't breathe properly.

I would have liked to have seen

those blueprints

on the silver screen

projected on the womb-walls,

I would have been proud,

before this fall.

But I can't breathe properly.

Little lines of fire,

inside my lungs.

Machinery has tired,

the flesh is young,

but the wires that hold it

have come undone.

I can't breathe properly.

Little sections of life.

Drawn into my body,

that I do nothing with.

And god, does it hurt.