Torpor circulates
breeds
spewing maggots
through veins
hollow
and spindly
refreshing this
exercise
in futility.
Encased, petrified
in the rigid amber
of a death grip;
their skeletal digits
gnarled, inhospitable
bring suffocation.
Ushering in softly
a traffic jam
of violent panic
in a parched throat
that no longer ferries
fatuous pleading.