Misguided

Death

Death is beautiful, peaceful and black, silent and easy and lonely and numb,

It's perfect if you hated life and wanted out.

Some people love it; people like me,

others try to go back as soon as they see,

You wouldn't appreciate it if you weren't a loner as myself. Nobody speaks here, we keep to ourselves, we have our own areas a small place to hide; a shell.

You see, here in death it's never moving, your stuck. Time sits still and feels as if your drowning in mud. But it's nice, you feel nothing, you don't feel bad about anything at all.

We are the middle, we are the Nothing in between. Those that kill go to hell and those murdered go to heaven.

Those like us that take their lives, find their way here... to death. We get no reward, yet no punishment. We're just here, were just dead. For us, there's nothing left. Nobody to torture us or congratulate us for it.

Nothing. We keep silent. Only watching everyone. All we have to do is think, but we slowly forget who we are.

Then there's no more thoughts. We go crazy with anticipation for something to happen, but Nothing ever does.

It gets less and less peaceful and your mind won't rest, it will just go on blankly.. but I was the one to blame. I chose Death.