A cell,
but not even...

between death and knowing
with the qualm of a conscience,
and others without.

From this hollow of despair,
diffusion sustains the abhorrent
aberration,.. an impulse,..
and I must take a breath

despising the act
to tell you of life.

But once I no longer,
restraint will be no promise of

It was selfish for me to even care,
and I would rather feel physical pain than this.
So in death it will be better
no matter where it is I go.