The Body
Nick Pitman, Sarah Cowell
My chest trembles with coffee grounds and whooping coughs
What is it that breathes? Is it my lungs or me?
My hair hides a locked door and a small window
I can see out but can't get through fully
My hands are too cold to hold onto but you won't let me go
What is there to memorialize while I'm still alive?
The body is a mistake
We spend our lives undoing what was made
We've been built, but we're not complete
We exist but are we worth remembering?