Cyanide dreams run me through like poison arrows while Lazarus with forked tongue cries, for reborn is the hell of life. Like Frankenstein's creature, death is the only freedom. Unique in his design is the archangel, descended from paradisical realms where all is ignorant bliss. There is beauty in chaos and discord. But, if living is chaotic, and it is, then why is death a luxury? It is nothing but ignorance; blissful ignorance. There is heaven in death.