Insanity of Death

brooding over the epithet of my grave, trapped as the maker's slave. n'sync to my own insanity, destined to be six feet under. a vice grip of the reality of my life, staying away from the the end of the tunnel's light. contemplating the beginning and the end; a one way trip, with no going back, not knowing when it's going to come, nor the set time of date. like my serious grave of epitome: the gravity of ashes and dust on my tomb, severity of darkness of what we don't already know, that in which we must overcome. a fear of the undertow, crucial to the aftermath of the afterlife. as your ember of fire dies; hoping that it's quick and painless, cause you don't know whether you're going to heaven or hell!