I’ve been obsessed with death for as long as I can remember.
Crouched in the corner of dreams in a chamber. 

I fought battles and lost out in anger. 

Now in isolation thinking never. 



I dream of death, life a failure;
Aspirations in a Bunsen burner
I extend my skeletal hand to receive blessings of sand. 

Yet all I see is where the water lands 



I prepare my point of departure. 


Cutting all umbilical cords. 

Undergoing a seizure, my plans are in accord.



So when ye heareth my existence no more, 

Cry ye not for I have gone to a place I longed for.

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