Mature Content - The following piece may not be suitable for all audiences.
the vultures are spinning with corpse below,
waiting for signs not to show,
hoping for flies and fearing for breath...
that last shudder and the cold of death.
weight on shoulders hindering moving,
keeping the bedridden from revolting,
can't stand up straight or budge from this spot,
half tempted to encourage the rot.
waking from happiness, waking from sleep,
waking from the magical world we keep,
waking from a night much too short
with humors aching without a snort.
it's just wanting the pain to end,
whether by light or fate's dark friend...
fearing to disappoint my self
when my moods disappoint my heath.