The Book of the Dead.

I think if I ever really rest, I shall lay myself down and my life will be over.

I will just stop like a clock.

I think if I ever really let go, I will slip into death, I will turn; like day into night.
Or perhaps like a book; the turning of a page.

I think if I ever relieve myself, the darkness will pour out of me more than blood, and all my ugliness will melt into a crown that will wrap around my heart, and then everyone will see what I am;

an object.