My eyes in your face, staring at the wall. Here is where a grown man becomes a child again. It's just as well you've laid down your burdens, after such a long life. After so many years when you did nothing but consume. Nothing in this world rests easy at night. Your heart slows down, but you're bleeding out faster, drained, an empty sack. The pattern that you are is fragile. The pattern's all you are, and it dissolves. And I am a willing host for anything that's left: one quarter of your blood, the closest you will come to eternal life. And in good time, we'll circle round like crows, an open-mouthed farewell, ripping you apart. Your voice in my throat, your tremors in my arms: the disease of the father forced upon the son. I have finally found a home.