Laying upon the soil I breathe for the last of my kind,
residing beneath the cigarette burn deemed moon,
I know death upon my spine and shoulders,
it is in this hollow scene of counter productive heart beating,
death is six feet beneath,
as I blow out my birthday candles,
burn out the blood marks on my finger nails,
the grass holds me tight,
whispers heaven of god as I kiss death with my eyes wide open