02-15-2014, 08:54 PM
i posted this poem on the 4th of this month:
Holy Suicide
I am tired of being here;
please, let the end of this be near.
No synchronicity will do;
there is nothing better than you.
No drug could ever do the trick;
you are the only love I pick.
Nothing could make me want to stay
but being with you all the day.
How are things the way they should be
if you are not, always, with me?
When we die we merge with the all;
here, we are on some kind of call.
The plan is perfect, I am sure;
my thoughts of Death are more than pure.
When I die is when I ascend;
I want nothing more than the end.
Holy Suicide
I am tired of being here;
please, let the end of this be near.
No synchronicity will do;
there is nothing better than you.
No drug could ever do the trick;
you are the only love I pick.
Nothing could make me want to stay
but being with you all the day.
How are things the way they should be
if you are not, always, with me?
When we die we merge with the all;
here, we are on some kind of call.
The plan is perfect, I am sure;
my thoughts of Death are more than pure.
When I die is when I ascend;
I want nothing more than the end.