I was a fool to ever think the way to infinity was believing in things that had no care or concern of me. If there was concern for my being,

prove me wrong.

instead we’ve been cut out. chewed upon,
and instead of spitting out the gristle or whatever
tries to remain,
we’re mashed upon.

grit mixing with saliva,
stirred but not completely broken.
sore.

no, infinity comes not this way.
(and had it, I would want none of it,
to be torn apart and stuck,
rotting in the crevices between
the teeth of all father.

cavities- rotting.