In death do thy part with such sweet sorrow,
Freedom of agony, and these horrid visions of torment.
No blood or poison is the way thy shall flee,
But an unscripted word, that has only meaning to thee.
Brittle and cold, not a word is moaned.
A sweet hallucination, and now I am alone.
Falling down, unable to move,
A final cough of torture and my soul has been soothed.
Finally, nothing is dieing,
Dreadful malaise is not prying.
Malicious delusions have stopped flowing from thy soul,
A vindicated feeling, no story must ever be retold.
I am free! I must be joyful,
Yet I am dead, so how can that not be sorrowful?
I lay here unable to move,
Will I not be discovered, is my body now doomed?
Death, was this a horrid mistake?
Now I am worrying of what my thoughts did not intake.
Vindication in this way is not a true freedom from life,
I am now caged, unable to feel, which causes such morbid strife.
I did not believe that the end was this deranged,
I hoped it would end everything and let thy be estranged.
I am stuck inside this gloomy tomb,
Wondering why I could have ever decided death was freedom, not a doom.
