There is no endless killing field,
Blood weeps
A char-grinned slogan
To make out the smile on my face.

Endless wishes, whines
I call to the times where I was happy
A smiling kid, rich in looks
Dead inside. I bleed out onto the cobbles
Lick-spit rent-up.

Now push me, shush me, run your hands across me
Pull up the corpse from the gravel
Taste my lips; taste the ashes?

I love the symphony,
The clarion's call
The gate that pulls me to heaven, then hell
I'll cry out my lungs, too bad they're already ashen.

I love the end; the irony, the sweet finality of Death
It waits for me. Thirty one years strong.
I bet before the final day, the Gods visit me one last time in my dreams
For I am bereft their touch, song, call, whisper, reassurance;
I am absent the fateful hope of a good lasting thought
They'll reach down and swaddle me up in their arms
Push back my ash-slicked hair, and whisper in thine ear:
"You had it all. You could've made it and been someone"
"But you threw it all away, away, away..."