I Remember The Day I Died

I still faintly remember the day I died,

how the heavens themselves split open,

and the after-place shone through,

at first it was everything and all,

no desire unfulfilled,

just an endless sea of ecstasy,

I lost myself inside it,

like an addict under the thrall of their designer drugs,

but then I came up for air,

 realising for the first time that I had died,

and this was not a place of joy,

but a place of punishment made for me,

my sea of tranquility was no more,

but a ball of soiled hope,

I cower now,

in this hole,

and rot with this casket made of oak.    

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