except for that  incessant hum i imagine death to be this. Not that empty silence of nothingness but  a constant dreamily reminder of what could have been had you  made different decisions. Wading through cesspools of pretended smiles, back staving  beast and the occasional pleasantry of truth that shows itself only to call me a liar. i the chameleon, who has run out of colors to mask my contempt can no longer pretend that horrible shit isn’t happening, just because it isn’t happening to me. Unless we are able to truly see another we can never really know their hunger for just wanting to be.  We are the creatures who crawled upon our bellies salvaging for the scraps  that those who above us born with wings that  only know half the story leaving us to  fed upon their glory…when we go away we don’t die we are cocooned  to accept the  beauty of our new existence, Without sound we know where we belong but without voice we don’t have a song