The Humble Passenger

These weathered hands - rusted relics embellished in the patina of time’s restless passage These sinister metallic arms march forward, akin to Third Reich battalions stomping on Parisian fabric with leather boots hand stitched in the name of totalitarian apathy Each of these arms testify against me and bear witness as to how I ticked my life away They are no different than insatiable worms that nibble away at the tellurian tapestry of decay - these hands devour this Humble passenger wistfully traversing through the wreckage of this debris-ridden odyssey unencumbered by the tonnage of anxiety that is bursting through the seams of my hollowed body