Oh, How I long.
How I long to be finally still,
to make a final, pointless swansong,
to close my eyes against the grey clouds.
How I wish to be free
of this nagging and knawing.
I'd give the devil a kiss, you see,
a simple exchange.
I long to be a statue,
a pillar of salt.
would that be okay? Would that be a virtue?
To leave me gone, but not forgotten.
To leave me suspended, all that
Remains being the good, but not the
Bad, the ugly? To be rid of the burnt rat
that crawls along my shoulders and neck?
I long to be a pillar of salt ,
to be sterile and pure,
to put my life ona permanent halt
like it shoulf have so long before.
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