I will never be better than me. I am the worst version of myself. Pain, never ending. Pain, just constant. I see no end in sight. I want to be free of me. The child's teeth grow dull in the shape of the mother's teat. Let go of the world you know, false visions of reality. The ripe fruit turns sour on the limbs of the rotting tree. When my time comes, and everything goes cold there's still one thing I need to know. What's beyond the other side of the dirt?