See all the marigolds, it is you who spoke and all was light, my vast pine grove and quiet place has become diseased. My silk Arabian sheets and bed is my coffin, and still I have to beg a boulder to help another before I expire. I am dressed in Burberry I have suffocated in. Soon, the church ground and still I urge this boulder to have empathy, to love and have compassion. I want nothing, just bless them, bless her, bathe them in light, I do not deserve it. I never deserved my beauty, my unique eyes and a razor sharp wit and infernal intelligence. In my sick room you'll find a million abstract things, thousands of ancient books, religious artifacts, scribbles and notes, mountain-like mounds of clothes and I am lying there, I am dead, I am death.