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The other day I met a boy, who bled cold with lies.
He told me that those who never live are better off when they die.
At first I didn’t believe him, but then I began to think
as the empty bottle shattered on the floor and my pills fell down the sink.
And as they buzzed around the drain, dropping down one by one,
His whisper haunting in my head. “You are not the sun,”
“You and I, my friend, we are not the sun,
But empty vessels surrounded by the desert.
Neurocracy!” he cried, “My friend, that is not a word,
But you’d be surprised what you find when you dig down in the dirt.”
My friend, my friend, I call him now. You see, I do believe,
for all my life I’ve tried to live, but for living, I was so naïve.
It was the floor that shattered my empty bottles and the sink that swallowed my pills!
“I’m innocent!” I pleaded. “Death is not the cause of dying, life is the one that kills.”
Pointing to my good old friend, his silhouette no longer there,
The judge’s anger reflecting in my eyes, “No God will answer your prayer,”
“No God will dare to answer your prayer,
You are what you deserve, a disgraceful sinner.
Redemption!” he cackled, “Your fate is not the lottery,
And if it is, you receive no incentive, for your ticket is not a winner.”
The other day I met a girl, who smiled simply sweet.
I told her dying is a great reward, for a life of bliss is pure deceit,
And as she stared, my cold eyes began to melt, ice began to perspire.
Fear was my last resort, as my eyes sparked, to flame, then to wildfire.
But she remained untouched, vulnerable to my words.
Then she spoke, “Who are you to cut off the wings of the flying birds?”
“You, hopeless fool, cut the wings of birds,
I am no bird. I fly with, or without wings.
Death!” She laughed, “You see, I fear not the angel of death,
Some day death may come to me, but I find a blessing in everything.”
And as my soul withdrew into a distance, I cried,
“Oh my, my dear friends, I am just a waste of breath,
I am nothing more than a waste of life…
a waste of death…”