I ponder death often,
And he scoffs at my folly

Sleeplessness is the Gift I ask not for
But grants my imagination a vivacity
That thrives as a plethora of drugs,
And I see thee as a painful love
That I simply cannot return

I have a sentence to life
And the warden is Death.

We all have our mystery and worldly ties
But here lies our gravestone, alone in the skies

Sweet cherry blossoms
Are drowning in your eyes;
Drifting out to Sea

There are 7.6 billion fools to this day
and I build an understanding to stand among them.
I came to the haven of insecurity to find the unknown
and to worship the word of my Professors like a slave.
I bow down to the, end all be all, grades of disappointment
As if these C's will give me the edge one day;
the sway over everybody else to secure my existence.
I yearn to matter in anyway possible,
In a society that wants to ***** out my contributions.

Thus far,
I can not compare to the greats in their sepulchers,
Nor can I circumvent my disposition of miniscularity.
But one day when I know what those fancy words truly mean
I will reign down from above
And hopefully take my place next to the others...
Dead and in a grave of my own.

Where the darkness goes
I will follow endlessly
Into the abyss