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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