Smelling the Flowers at My Wake

The object of desire becomes the drudgery of routine While ambitions make way for dread, tears melt a frozen dream Indefinite deferment: the essence of futility Suspense breeds senility My past overwhelms me for the future I'm facing Knowing I'll be dead one day but growing impatient Eyes bore holes in me-torn apart at the seams Trephined unmercifully, my positive thoughts escape like fucking steam My situation's hopeless; I can't wait to die No longer pondering the path that I must take In a fleeting moment (I can) smell the flowers at my wake With each passing day, I'm one day closer to dying The expanse of living is but a transient state With each passing day, I'm one day closer to dying Every day I'm one day closer to death Another day closer to death