First level was simple denial,
I argued with myself for awhile,
counted each and every bathroom tile
while I waited until sedated so that I could smile.
I felt the anger twinge inside myself,
I cursed all the time spent seeking wealth,
and bathed in loathing for my careless lack of health,
and my inability to ever ask for much needed help.
They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but when my number's up I won't try
I won't fight; I'll have no punches to throw.
Five stages and seven hells,
turn the pages and hope it sells.
Next was bargaining but I had nothing to give,
no reason to be here, no reason left to live,
but I took my chance on a lie a and fib,
and offered up my heart along with a shred of rib.
Every layer always gets warmer,
until it surely burns your skin,
you'll find the next is worse than the former,
is this the punishment for sin?
They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
but to say life is short would be a lie,
'cause some of us just feel it's too slow.
Five stages and seven hells,
open the cages and ring the bells.
Depression walked in like an old friend,
it was no big change, there was no letter to send.
I realized I was defective with no chance to mend,
my spine officially broken even though I didn't bend.
Then acceptance finally washed over me,
with a conclusion some things are just not meant to be,
I didn't bow my head or fall on one knee,
words can't describe that feeling of being free.
They say no one is ever ready to die
and there's always regrets when you go,
I hope to find a comfortable home in the sky,
or atleast in soil for something else to grow.
Five stages and seven hells,
I'll live through the ages, constantly shedding my shells.