She is the fireplace which radiates inside my rib cage
My insurance for when my thoughts crash, and we both know they will
My perfect prescription for illnesses undiagnosed
My introduction to the kid formally known as myself
My captain, my first mate, and the wind in my sails
She is my

She. is

the pillow i rest my head upon and the director of my dreams and to others she may appear as one number but her beauty, oh her beauty, is pi

oh how i wish,
she could here,
how she is

When my body can no longer dance to the beat of my heart
I will be gone, but not dead
When memories of me are buried inside their departed keepers
I will be gone, but not dead
When my family tree withers and my bloodline runs dry
I will be gone, but not dead
But when my name is spoken that final time
When the remaining trace of me leaves lips and along with it, existence
I will be gone, and I will be dead.

I dream of an ornate death
A sweet terminal sentence, not too long, not too short.
Embellished, with reverence and respect

I don't know who will **** me,
but I hope they do it *perfectly