I would hate to be the last to remain.

In a world carved clean of feeling and touch,

Where all that remains are skeletal husks of metal and wire.

I would hate to be the last to remain.

When flesh and movement turn to static and cold,

And all that’s left to caress our bodies are the rain and the night.

I would hate to be the last to remain.

When it is only I and the birds,

And the whirring hiss of technological brokenness.