Am I right or brave enough to think that
I can beat death to the punch whenever I choose
or to continue in helping to wear out the earths skin
until time orders her to hold me in a clay fist?
Have I wasted her supportiveness
by blindly acting as the King of fools
while stupidly believing this IS the real me?
where among the onion skins of my nature
will I find the answer
or am I deemed to be denied that priviledge
as I continually abuse my worth
peeling away layer after layer
all the way to the core of finality?
But for now during the clocks unstoppable subtractions
I go on wastefully enjoying meagre happinesses
and occasionally putting up with cess pit days
that overflow without warning
am I really nothing more than the ugliness of the truth in flesh
I dont want to face up to?
yet this undecidedness causes me no embarrassment
even in the company of those
who can see beneath the facades I need to wear
even if I dont make heavens roll call
when death comes to find me
and when he does
will I have gained the right to an eternal existence
or be made to pay the price for my earthly offences
in the currency of eternal damnation?