I have a plain skeleton,
There is nothing particular about it that makes it special or odd when compared to that of another person. It creaks with every brittle movement, threatens to break away into ashy remains and just overall works like that of everybody else. There’s no marks that tell some great story or that show just traumatizing grief can be. There’s nothing to show where I’ve been or where I’ll be. There is nothing here but a plain but disturbed existence.