I can feel my heart stop beating, I can feel the ending taking over, the world erasing my existence, my tired skin falling from the dead muscle, the separation of what was to what is, a journey of resurrection, of a life I never earned to right to call my own and a death saturated in the pleasure of another, I was never a saint, I lived with my sins, I deserved better than I gave, yet I lived as I was and died because of it, fabricate my existence into a memory of unintentional mistakes lost in the placebo of a tomorrow that will never come
