For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.

  —William Shakespeare,

  Hamlet, Act 3: Scene 1

  The die is cast; the family unit

  Is broken into splinters.

  The only pillars of my strength

  Now drift apart along the length

  Of clenching ruthless fingers.

  The unbreakable vow is shattered

  And all my strength goes with it;

  The only thing awaiting me

  (When everywhere I look to see)

  Is death and screams within it.

  This world I see is dead to me,

  Burnt to a smokeless ember;

  For no more love and only hate

  Shall be the ending of my fate,

  Which no one shall remember.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  So in my darkest hours of silence,

  When everyone is dead,

  I scratch my name from off the page

  Of destiny within my rage

  Of solitary dread.

  No fate shall follow at my heels

  And keep me company,

  Because my world is my inferno,

  In which my sufferings will earn no

  Reprieve or set me free.

  In silent brooding on my fate,

  I'll take myself away

  T' extinguish out the burning fires,

  Compelling me in my desires

  To end my life this day.

  No longer shall I breathe the air

  Of living happiness,

  So long as hatred still exists,

  So long as foul contempt persists,

  So long as there's distress.

  The air I breathe is rank with hate,

  With anger, fear, regret,

  From which I cannot seem to 'scape,

  Except within a dreaming landscape

  Free of the looming threat.

  And so in silence shall I sleep

  And never rise again;

  I'll sleep the endless sleep of death

  When the long sigh of my last breath

  Will cut my silver chain.

  In outer darkness shall I wander

  In endless dreams tonight,

  When all my soul is free from pain;

  The only thing that will remain

  Is seeking out that light.

  FINISH