to be, or not to be.
the question that plagued the noble Hamlet,
so plagues me now.
I care not for the for the art
with which he speaks,
yet his core idea rings true.
laying myself to rest,
sleeping,
perchance to dream.
and in that dream of death,
i might escape the nightmare of life.
this seems the favourable route.
but...
"seeming" is the key.
is it merely a shining illusion,
this relief?
for in the passing of life
by one's own hand,
he only passes his griefs
to loved ones.
is my relief
worth the pain
it would cause?