Die

Squirming within I see life unfold,
I grow older, winds of insanity
Maturing is a process I have come to dread,
its not my sight, its the view.

I pull down the shutters, I swallow my tongue
Lest I join the milieu in puking some murk
Its been a very long day
I still hear the noise

I breathe one last time and breathe no more.
The sound, the wind become stranger to me.
I pass away as the mud is pulled beneath.