Hi, it's me and I'm dead

I've killed myself, again, and let me just say (if I can) that this time cremation is out of the question. No more ashes for me, my friends, but no worms either. Just send me overboard to feed the fishies. I know, dying so far from any large body of water may prove ionconvenient to you (not to mention the environemtal laws you might break) and may seem a bit excessive, especially since I'm not one to complain or nag, at least not in my present state of decomposition. Nevertheless please respect this last request I'll ever make, unless I really do decide to return as another homo sapiens sapiens in what dreams may come (oh please, don't we all steal from the best every once in a while?). So, tata, my dear friends. The wake's on me. Love, [Name withheld by request of next of kin] Ps. The Jameson's that's left is first come, first served. Sorry about the Baileys: It is finished -- along with the rum, the cognac, and that one merlot from Washington State I'd been holding onto all these years. Nothing like diazapam and mixed drinks for a grand send-off, don't you agree? Best 30 minutes I ever spent! Too bad the rest of you missed the party. Better luck next time we're well met.

The ignorance of bliss

The sounds you make remain within my head, as lights that shine amid persistent pain. Under their spell, I molt, I change, I shed Constraints which once were chains, but now are threads Unraveling, unwilling to constrain The sounds you make remaining in my head. Their music, not your words, which fail to wed Their meaning to the joy I ascertain. Under their spell, I molt, I change, I shed The world and all its fatal charms. Instead, I listen now to wind and clouds and rain; The sounds they make remain within my head Like whispers of a future that lies just ahead; A place, a time, a vision I would gain. Under their spell, I molt, I change, I shed. And yet, this mystery to which I’m led By you is frightening. I can’t explain The sounds you make remaining in my head. It is rebirth, returning from the dead As Lazarus came back to life, again. The sounds you make remain within my head. Under their spell, I molt, I change, I shed.