I am dead
Don't believe me?
I see your face is turning red
I wish it was you instead

I wish to feed
On the Quaker's health
Participating in a lie
Involving only one's self

I wish to feed on the lost
Born only to be tossed
I realized I'm not what you wanted
I realize I'm not Robert Frost

But to leave now would be flawed
To leave now
To be Closer to god

The odor of your tainted complexion
Is that of the finest confection
What a shame, What a waste
To lose a life so post haste