Not for an Obituary
I feel things crawl and writhe beneath my feet,
Screaming to be reborn.
To block the noise,
I stuff my ears with dirt,
The sound so unbearable.
It pulls me under.
But I refuse to be consumed,
Or to heed their pitiful cries.
I know they will drain me of hope.
I was tranquil,
But as I came to this place more and more,
The calm I thought was there has been lifted,
And ruptured.
Now the dead scream at me...
If they ever were there...
And I have not become mad.
I thought I was nothing,
And when I finally got what I wanted,
It was a horror.
It has been progressing slowly,
Draining me.
I have become so weary.
My wish,
My call,
Such a simple thing,
Turned horrid.
It has ripped me in two.