The Same Way We All Do.

I will die–

Will I? 

HA.

Won't I–

I will die alone,

like everybody,

every soulless body,

buried, cold, alone.

Left in the ground to rot through and through,

thorough and

forgotten and–

Cold.

It'll always come down to that.

By bullet or by bat,

by drifting off into sleep, then slipping into eternal sleep,

by disease, or by cancer, or by heartache,

By God, you could be 

so freaking high and so damn happy that your heart gives out

and you'll still be

All. 

Alone.

When it comes down to it, 

and it always will,

we all die the same way.

And none of us are special.