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Deeper breaths deny me rest from internal destined pain.

I'd dream to death if pills would let me forget all reliefs strain.

Lungs wrapped in shards of glassy death, can taste prayers of the end.

Hospital painting sometimes helps me play "Not Here Pretend".

No one can help so they just yelp to have me stretch my will.

I guess I'll pass soon due to a fasting love can't even fill.

I will miss the care, concern of those who wouldn't let me die.

Not even when I urged to walk down windows, if not fly.

They're not to blame. I know this now, funny as it hurts.

But death has ways of shining humor on what you thought the worst.

Those little feats did eat at me, that much I can admit.

But this obstacle before me Victories Guard will not permit.

Nothing left to do but swallow hard and die my best.

When The Black Parade comes marching in It'll drum my hollow chest.

And Death himself in all graves wealth will ask me curious, "Was it worth the race?"

I'll grin, reply to him, "I fought so strong just to see the look upon your face."