To be. Of course, to be.
I have no desire to unravel
My mortal coil
Because I know what dreams may come
And they make me want to stay awake.
Yet I am loathe to bear these ills.
Ever do I fly to new ills, praying
New joys await as well.
I am a gull seeking green
But finding only endless sea and sand.
This life is not my own.
It belongs to the thousand natural shocks
My flesh is heir to.
It belongs to you and he and they.
And I draw you all in.
And you eat my insides.
And I delight in the torture.
Because when you’re done, I’ll be free.