COME, DEATH

Tapping my little fingers
with the doldrums of the moment.
But the temporal lunacy of reality
evades me.
I pause, and fancy
the thought of total destruction.
As the the line goes:
Dying
is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
The thought of death
seduces me.
The blade of the knife caressing my skin,
excites me.
The sporadic churn of poison in my stomach
captivates me.
I crave for silence.
The constant monotone of death
bribes my heart.
I crave for death.