blood for the bloodless in poetry

our blood is just a by-product of the churning in our bones
our dreams just a by-product of when we’re stuck alone
our realities by-products of when we stop looking at our phones
our phones just a by-product of a distant past when we all had homes
our homes just a by-product of having somewhere dry to sleep
our sleep just a by-product of being too worn out to weep
our tears just a by-product of nature as mostly-water
our natures by-products of being too busy to bother
but the blood keeps churning churning
in the marrows of our bones and
our dreams keep burning burning
for a feeling of not being alone