The Book of the Dead.

Melting into the earth,
sliding into the spaces,
just waiting for death to take me.
living in the in between,
not a place for anyone to be really.

Just fighting in the gray,
while dreaming in the shadows,
life is but a fantasy of a better tomorrow.

Hope is what you say,
but faith is just make believe.
See I know we were nothing before,
and we will return to nothing again.
Everything is pretend,
pain is the only reality,
and
suffering is the only unremitting constant.