My soul was flung to ‘heaven’,
a place which falls flat on is face.
My soul fell flat too before me,
pleading to get me out of this place.
In my death, I was not meant to live here,
my aim was not this mess of a place –
an imagination of some prophet before me
who stood standing there quite out of place.
Kindly lay me back down to die here,
when I’m gone, the earth will have what,
come what may.
While my mind is in tact
though my body might lack,
heaven is no place to me.
Bogie men and pixies don’t scare me,
lay me down where ‘angels’ don’t dare,
let me die as I am, human cycles
hell be damned; your voodoo won’t scare
or deny me.
We live and we die, own it.
… its called Biology