To be, or not to be?

That has always been the question,
but I've never been too sure of the answer.

I'm not obsessed with Shakespeare, just death.
Or rather death is obsessed with me -- I feel it.
Surging through every synapse under my skin,
buried deep within each crater of my soul:
I no longer know what home feels like.

Death haunts me.
Like the shadow I've never
quite been able to catch,
but have always heard knocking.
One day, that door will be opened--
darkness will consume me,
if I could only find the light switch.

When you don't like a song,
you can simply stop listening to it;
this record has been stuck on repeat for so long
maybe I'll finally learn
what forgiveness sounds like.

But I'm scared.

Of what will happen
when the music stops playing.