Wild Honey

My death note would speak of an inheritance of my mother's boundless compassion and father's untamed rage. I'd give way in my sleep if courage failed me. I wonder which part hurts the most or which form my soul would take. I wonder if my hell would have me as a mute quadriplegic, unable to write or recite all the sentiment churning inside of me. To render it painless, I'll simply numb my spine and watch life draw into or out of me, depending on where my demons seek peace. Death has mocked us for far too long; someone needs to match the mockery of its void. I hope the voices humming through the patchy night shall guide my soul through the darkness of eternity.

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