That light hasn't come on for weeks now,
and I got a sense of peace when I was dying:
the bells peter out, the sirens stop crying.
I am left with the cold wind sifting my bones.
There is a point where all space compresses to one;
I chase that quiet with nicotine, the little kill.
Nothing compares to the dreamsleep. Perfect soft.
To wake up and find it was a nightmare. I mourn it.