Wake up in the land of the dead,

Bleeding corpses everywhere.

They smile and shake your hand,

Tip their hat and bite your neck-

Like some funny horror flick,

A dim classic, full of cigarette burns;

Nihilist porn.

This is life. This is grandeur.

I look in the mirror, examine closely

A face formed in clay,

Like all the others;

Depressed and sunk eyes,

Like all the others.

Nietzsche was a suicidal voice in my head.

When fantasy meets bleak amusement,

Men queue up to stand at a soapbox,

Ready to tell me how I was killed.