Dark and cloudy.
The place where I lay.
A mother weeps.
For her taken child.
Watching this crumbling world.
Waiting for those last words.
Of humble grievance,
to which I know.
With a knife in my chest,
and a gun to my left.
I lie for my final descent.
In my grave I lay.
Hidden below,
from the world above.
To say a thing, I wish I’d said,
My Death is Unseen.