The April day is cold
And I await my death
Not in some distant future
Unknown to me,
Weak, mortal.

The April sky is grey
And death is creeping close
Down the hall it marches
And in my chair I shudder,
Weak, mortal.

The April sun is gone
And death is nearly here
For my soul it reaches,
For my life it craves,
And scared of death
I sit and wait
And wish I was not so
Weak, mortal.

I care not for what may come
I fear not for who I'll be
But I care for what I'll be
I fear for who will come

I want to see you,
Meet you,
Awkwardly introduce myself to you,
Court you,
Kiss you at your door,
By accident.
I want to love you,
But love is not an accident.

How do you cheat the soul?
Break that entropic chaos of feelings
so erratic they shatter like stars in death
and blur into one immortal being
all at once?
The answer is sin.

How do you cheat the mind?
Trick that intricate mess of thoughts
so complex and yet so basic at their core
into believing it is wrong?
The answer is deceit.

How do you cheat the heart?
Beat that pulsing beast of an *****
into submission so deep
it refuses to heave again?
The answer is love.