Screaming, twisting, turning under the knife,
Knowing that I’m nearing the end of my life.
Hurting and swearing and sweating, the fear.
Knowing now that my time is near.

Hurtling toward hatred, my mind is a slate.
Waiting for death I long for a mate.
Taking the knife and planting it deep,
Into my heart, which ceases to beat.

Hurting and hurtling toward my end,
Waiting to rejoin some long, lost friend.
The knife settles in and the blood starts to pour,
Out of my wound and onto the floor.

Regrets I have had leave in a rush,
As my mind prepares me for deaths sweet thrust.
Into my soul, he comes for his due,
Death’s sweet reward, is rejoining you.


© Era°