My infinite death
snaps my stellar spine,
succumbing unto that snapping whip,
oh port of home,
can't you take my bones
my bridled brain
to heaven again?

I was never good
but my heart was strong,
enough to carry on
the weight of my wounds
I had caused,

as it began to patter out
I began to ponder the shapes of scars
and where to put my embers lest I fall in battle,
the consequence here bound, in immortal ink
in its best,

My infinite jest
in the melodrama (the toll of living)
succumbing to the snap of a vicious rope,
oh port of home,
can't you take my bones
and my hanging head
to heaven again?

I was never bad
but my sins presented
mountains to climb
higher than thine,

the slow uncouth ascent
revealed more and more stars I could not reach,
and I began to ponder the revelry in,
the places I could not be, were the love of my life
and the warmth that could come with being comfortable,

and my unsold rest,
as it seems could never be,

without trying and dying too hard,