[ condition of decomposition ]

Keep me near death
so I can hear the breath
of phantoms
who read me their poems!

They have composed
through the veil
of the decomposed,
screaming from Hel,

ghosts of inspiration.
This ethereal
dark manifestation
is surreal.

My mind cannot sustain
these thoughts of solitude!
What wisdom can I gain?
A demon's platitude
can't relieve my pain!
What is there left to do
but kill away the brain?

I have no sorrow for tomorrow.
Anything to end this day
would surely satisfy
my desperate need to bleed.

I have no way
to live for today,
was long gone
before dismay
tore through this
dismal apparition.

Yes, I shall always be this way.
Are you aware of my condition?