Greater Than Death

The pain of death is but a mere annoyance in my waking solitude.
The prudence that lies in my shadowed tomb beats thoroughly through my veins as I ponder the meaning of life...

...Needles prick my arm and blood drips down my wrist...but care to feel? I do not...not anymore. My nerves were cut out when love disappeared...when all my mind and heart held dear was ripped from my agonizing soul...the proof that love hurts, sometimes.

So when I wake up each and every night thinking of you...how else can I respond than to turn over on my other side and try to forget the pain? No...the pain of life is far greater than the pain of mere death.