Death Sonnet

Darkness and blood drain from a life too felt,
blood turns to ice as veins begin to melt
for choosing against the life we are dealt.

Fresh, filleted forearms marked with an X,
blood pooling in puddles with each small flex,
defining this soul as one of life's wrecks.

Taunting God, demanding my ways.
Tempting Satan, inviting him to stay.
Exposing the truth as to create my faith.

Comes the warming calm of eternal sleep
that muffles the cries of mourners who weep.
Will the evil I've sown be mine to keep?

Thus, it's been said that I deserve my lot
for doing my will and calling my shots.