Parents do not give the gift of life,
the gift they give is death.
After the long day that drains us,
We long to be consumed by darkness.
The blackness is bred in our bones,
it lurks silently in our hearts.
That long silence after pain.
That release from life's clench
is what we live for, and die for.
The best deaths, and the most rare,
devour it with unflinching acceptance,
and look it dead in the face.