In An Alternate Universe

The death, the scars,

Are better than stars.

For one is dead,

And others make one dead.

And dead things,

Don't speak,

Don't abuse,

Don't touch,

Don't screw.

So I love death than glee,

I love more of the dead in me. 

Often I think,

What If I sink,

Along with my ink,

Will the words extinct?

Or the sagas will sing,

The songs of swing? 

Then I realise,

I am half my joy, half cries,

Half lows, half highs,

Half falls, half rise,

Half open, half tied,

Half fool, half wise,

Half failure half tries,

Half myself, half guise.

So how will death divide my demise?

Will it kill full? 

Or will it slowly pull?

Whatever be the tool,

I just want,

Ink to come out as blood,

Bags full, bags full. 

While belonging to these halves,

I am now a lost graph,

And on my behalf,

Death will click photograph,

Of hope's trials.

To give me an empire,

Of my own,

In an alternate Universe,

Where I will be of no one,

But my own.