And now, how will your life be?
Will you purchase your happiness, your living thrall?
Will you ravage the confines of your timely shell, and suck up the pulpy marrow that sludges the dark place within your living bones?
Will you press your ear to your own heart until its very last beat?
Will you horror the planet with your ignorant gaiety?
Will you thrive on crushing smaller souls through taxi windows with your pitying eyes?
Will you sleep, confident in the lucre that pads your safe passage?
Will you eat without reflection, and revel in the flavor of fatness?
Will the grain of fabric always rest comfortably against the curve of your elbow and ribs?
Will you have what you need to sleep without remorse?
What are you willing to lose?
What could you survive?
How much will you care beyond your own capillaries and wandering ardent thoughts?
Will you scoop up the earth and sift the coarseness of history between your knuckles?
Will you try to become something more than your pulsing bag of wanting meat and bone?
Will anyone remember?
Will anyone care to remember?
What good will you be?