The ebony tar fills my lungs and coats my esophagus
with enveloping constraints of plague and malcontent,
and the dark oil stench fills this new sarcophagus
as I alone now sit and ponder my spiraling dissent.
The framework of my shell is built under dust and soot
where I’ll rest my mind after it’s fought its last fight,
my heart flutters at this thought of in soil I’ll be put
for I dread no more, but hope on my darkest night.
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