Here I am.
I'm not sure who clings to whom here, or what to what, as the grammar might go. Regardless, dried and desiccated, if it were not for the rusting strands of an external framework, I'd be long gone, just as I will be when the patient rust accomplishes it's job. Until then, ants and wasps grind and tear, bit by bit, until the rust introduces what's left of my dry-rotted mass to the grubs and worms. Even the living around me shrinks, shrivels, and dies upon getting too close.