There's an age old undying question that
Bides my blood stained wrists nailed here on thine earth,
That keeps my toes digging into the soft
Soil; into which we bury our dead, yet
Stand upon by which we mock the living,
And so that question stands as a viewer

Would you jump off a bridge if all your friends
Were doing it? As all our mothers asked,
Though what stuck about you, if I were to
Jump, what stops you from jumping after me?