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.