There are many doors that lead to death down this hall.
Echoing the screams of past victims as they bounce between the walls, not ready to go.
A number you hold in your hand, walking the thin line of tradgedy, grows wrinkled and worn as you find that twin, hanging like a half hearted smile on a golden plaqurd above your door.
A door as pure and white as an angels bare chest. It carries the length of rope, stretched by the seconds, the minutes, the hours, days, and years you lived. A life to be proud of in the end.
To bring a tearful smile to your eyes, like the day your first child's beautiful screams slipped into the world.
You have done your part in life, now its time to check into The Hotel Of Death.
