The morbidity of conciousness

The notions of being

Existence is a beautiful thing

Falacies echo through my blood

A life worth living

is a life of love

But with each breath

my soul is caged

And poked

And prodded

And filled with rage

Behave.

I’m told to listen

closely for the morning doves

Because a life worth living

is a life of love…

But what of love

And what of hate

If death is at my door

If life has taught me anything,

It’s rude to have guests wait

A life worth living

is a life of love

so I open the door

brew some tea

for my reaper is waiting for me

With gracious hospitality

and a smile cross my cheeks

I sit on my couch

and prepare to be reaped

So Ill paint my room red

with the lies in my veins

From my morbid consciousness

I swear I’ll abstain

The violence of consciousness

I’m tired of existence

Engraved in me are

the notions of being

But what notions when I’m living

in life without substance

So I’ll sit across death

hot tea in my mug

and let myself bleed

Onti his bones, gently cupped

So chilling, his embrace

strikes through flesh

piercing through my bones

His deathly cold arms

squeeze me with intent

until my heart stops beating

and my body stiff

As I realize the struggle of life

is met with a soul sucking kiss

So sleep I shall

With life behind me

The lies cut away

And my soul set free