Every night I find myself cauterizing another wound, another artery singed. It is a daunting task, scaring my flesh anew just to stop the emotions from oozing out. Every night I find myself with a sharp needle and a spool of thread close to spent. A new scare adorn by my hardening skin, a symbol of rage made rich. Rich with pain and tormented by greed. Every night I blare a horn in my ears, anything to shatter the illusion that is your voice. The ringing is all I desire to hear. Every night a standard with a red cross flys above my bed, a signal that I can no longer fight. 

   While l lay dying may I no longer hear your sweet voice with those bitter words, when I die may I know peace at last that your memory will forever be lost. What ever the cost, what ever the struggle, may my last breath be spent with a sigh of relief. While I lay dying may my pain end, with my eyes finally closed. May the void except me into its fold that I am finally nothing but the rotted dust that is our world. When I die may this all come to an end