I knew torn things come to use
Like my white sweater from 3rd grade,
In halves wipes the linoleum, the old clothes
have its own department where they work
after the bodies retire them off,
The ones on the peg near the marble board are the luckiest.
Did you also wonder when our bodies withdraw from us,
Fire burns out and heart cracks apart,
The world would find an use
Or shall we whine under the faucet,
Lie amidst the cars with no engine or gears like a carcass?
Can damaged skin breath again
Through stitched scars and oxygen-pumped lungs?