Zero multiplies all on my histogram
I wish to know; am I still human?
Yes I breath, and still feel my arm
But tubers are me and no longer yam
I have a house that is not my home
I lay on irons which are but my foam
Stiffness is gathering in my genome
And all forms of excitement has become
…..A trailer load of caring spasms
Pleasure no longer comes with orgasms
Not necessarily frown but swings and springs
From a decline and dying enthusiasm
So if you are one that feel concern
Not necessarily for falling faces in exam
Or for not having to wear a crown
I am indeed very sorry for who I am.
