Despise living and love the dark,
Against all social norms.
But don't call us dead yet.
The heart might not be beating in
Lieu with your scales.
Breath might not be in and out
In accordance with your cues,
As we're not slaves.
The wings flutter erratically
The thoughts derange and paths
Often change. But we're trying..
Lips are a few inches wider,
If that's what you call a smiling.
There's a small bulb light always
These days as you're afraid of me
In the dark.
I'm trying to die a little less these days.
The mutilated nose is growing back,
And the twisted feet are turning around.
Necrosis is failing and my friends in
Hell smell the stink of betrayal.
Goodbye Chester, Goodbye Willis,
Goodbye you son of a gun, Hemingway.
The golden drop of life still seems
To be waiting for me she says.
So I refuse to die this evening per se.
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