Methanogens, diatoms, and humans are generated and animated.

Then they slow and are deactivated.

Organs and organisms orchestrated are slated with an ancient dilapidating agent; the property of aging.

In the milt we are built.

Then we wilt and whither until we’re silt.

In the ploy of evolution dissolution clears the path for the next to be slaughtered in the bio convoy.

I was made without the knowledge of what would become of me but soon I came to see that someday I would be destroyed.

Devastation awaits the conceived.

Eradication awaits what grows from the seed.

Integration becomes disintegration.

The fabric that is me will unravel until I am exterminated.

In the concoction of what blossoms is the recipe for becoming rotten, erased, forgotten, and replaced.

The begotten waste away in the name of existence.

Imprinted in me is the directive to disappear like so many who have been reduced to dust.

I’m engineered..

Engineered to self destruct.

To every birth there comes a tomb.

We’re all engineered with a genetic code that spells our doom.

Released from the womb, I grew to realize that in time I would meet my demise.

I watch my predecessors’ lives slowly fade away and like my predecessor’s lives I will waste away.

Chlorophyte and chordate are both butchered in the chain of specimen manufacturing and specimen decay.

For three and a half billion years on this globe life has been composed and life has decomposed.

I was sewn from a mortal cloth.

I was wrought from a mortal broth and brought into the holocaust.

I’m nailed to the same cross as the other organisms.

With awareness of finitude I am stricken.

With impermanence I am ridden.

I’m yet another piece of melting metabolic equipment in the fleet of melting metabolic equipment.

Condemned by the mechanics of my own flesh, I’ve been put together with termination vested in my breast.

I’m another gear targeted to rust turning towards my death.

I’m engineered..

Soon my memories, along with me, will resolve into the lost as I dissolve.

In the phylogenic epic of speciel cultivation and mutation neither amoeboid nor anthropoid from death is absolved.

I was spawned like so many eons of organisms who have come and gone long before my dawn.

IN the progenitive engine progenitors and descendants live and die to the tune of biogenesis.

From the nursery I travel, growing to know my terminal infirmity, to the infirmary.

By the mechanics of my flesh I’m condemned to vanish.

Contracted by my ignition to be put out of commission.

Stock after stock is expended and restocked.

Crop after crop becomes septic and rots.

Flock after flock reared is engineered to live and to die is engineered.

Like sands of the hourglbum, so are the days of our lives.

-Socrates

sdgrbbum09 Posted:

All we are is dust in the wind, dude.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOA