delivery

if i should fall into the sea
would my body flop on the crest of a wave
akwardly
would i be delivered
would i be taken
would my soul be claimed by some immortal, king like spirit
that took masses of people standing at the darkest side of
hell to their new homes
would i be delivered
would i be taked

i am the man
sitting on the bus beside you
who's head
comforted by a makeshift leather pillow
is trying to decend into the
unconcisous state of
bieng

but i can't shake the words out of my head
as the cheap, yellow interior of the bus smells like
stale perfume and cigarettes
as the man at the gates of hell watches me with
hungry eyes
brushing the dust off his black suit
preparing for the show tonight

can't shake the words
"it does not hurt to die"
i cannot shake my soul
i cannot shake my confusion
i cannot shake the constant fear of
being delivered
being taken

i do not want to go
i do not like it at my home
being delivered
being taken
no