On Death

· Optimism on Metareality

If I make it throught the night I’ll be the man,- I’ll be the man I was born to be. They’ll see.

Bleeding out in a corner, I did not wish to die alone, But where I’m at is drudging and desolate.

To keep my veins from rusting I’ve cracked the faucet, broken the seal.

Adruit razors, and a palm of pills.

Drip down into a pool of memories.

Slip into a sleep and dream of ember coals, or perhaps Gold.

How Quaint, but instead I decide to embrace the void.

Help is on the w- No, hell is all in angst.

Comatose, sporadic, acts of lapsed asmhatic attacks. Packed breaths take me to depths of Concious gaps.





I’m tapped, dry, and as my eyes fade I see glazed, plain, terrain. Wastelands.



Days never end.

The air is irrelevant in this endless vaccum.

Sleep is spent restless, Yet I’m strangely at peace.

Either blessed or cursed I’m off course, running through my eyes, the rants of hume.

I’m exhumed and attempt to exonerate the blooming landscape.

This room of white and shaded tunes.

Blurred clarity comes to me in brief beats and fluttered relief.


I’ll see with time.

What was is gone, from one to the next, and so on.

I’m perplexed yet-  to finally be alive. And to think all I had to do was die.



* In the first stanza try to  imagine the depression and hopelessness one might feel as they take their own life. Everything leading up to that moment, overwhelming their thoughts. But as the transition carries them off into an afterlife of sorts their past fades and they are awoken to something new. Do they know what is happening? No. The final lines reveal the truth that we still living can agree on. We  are uncertain of all that is to come. It may be nothing. It may be terrible. It may be grand. We can all choose to subscribe to an eschatological belief but in the end, we will only know in the end, if we even get the chance to know in the end.



“For death begins with life’s first breath And life begins at touch of death” – John Oxenham ( William Arthur Dunkerley)

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