blOodLesS

I have no pulse, I just found out
This morning, laying in bed
Listening to the thoughts running my head
I realised I lack
That think, thunk, twack
That makes me want to go mad

It's strange, really, being dead
A bit like living
But without the thread
That ties days together, like patches to quilts
I'm losing my pride
Along with my guilt

One by one
My thoughts diminish
Snuffed out, like delicate flames
No more irksome emotional games
I can smile at everyone
Without a doubt
I no longer care who they are

Death is easy, I suppose
Like falling asleep
Or stretching your toes
But even so, my heart, it aches
To beat the blood all through my veins
And bring back that sound, that terror, that bane
That makes me want to go mad