Finding A Meaning

A dynamic pulsation
Of a small rubbery blood filled pump
Sped up by desperation
Like the kind that makes the outside's jump
A system of filtration
Scarred and crippled by Saturday nights
Sad, slow annihilation
It's a shame it has no formal rights
An ever-sensing pale mesh
The telephone to the outside world
With only manual refresh
Forever to be in state unfurled
A brave long-standing structure
Never bending and rarely breaking
Clever ways of restructure
It's pure genius in the making
An ebbing flow of scarlet
Forever and ever travelling
Often a poem's starlet
Complexity needs unravelling
A place for food to digest
Filled with many harsh, burning acids
Occasionally in protest
When attacked by too many lipids
This is all bound together
To make something we call a person
To wrap up in black leather
Whose fate can only surely worsen
But that is simply just me
Although I haven't realised it yet
I'm just a tailless monkey
With a polished-up chemistry set