• See you soon,
    Black bird,
    Bird of death—
    I am alone in the wheat field
    With a gun in hand
    I Pull
    The trigger—
    The splash of red
    On the borrowed gun
    Sorry neighbor,
    I wasn’t shooting crows after all.
    Instead,
    I’m rotting decay of human flesh
    No more misery
    From this black bleak storm of sorrow,
    Called life—
    Now, in death,
    I lay in the emptiness of the vast paths
    Once a lonely old soul,
    Now I am as free as the night sky
    Where the crows roam