In every direction
Tumbling through a stubborn sense of reflection; a false comprehension
A birthday gift for the no more
Candles on the cake
Each of them fake and artificially relit
Dripping, dripping, dripping
No intent to eat it as well
Only to be consumed by waxen shell
And snuffed flame
What present shall be presented in his name?
What piece of life would he live if given the means by a faulted friend?
What care is he wont to have of living or dying,
When he is already dead?