I want to be a ghost.
I want to be completely free of all duties and responsibilities. Not just to other people, to myself as well.
I don’t want to have to think about eating, or sleeping.
I want to forget all the things that make me sad.
I want to forsake this shell, this sorry sack of flesh that would presume to sustain my mind, and distill myself down to my very esscense.
I want to be pure.
I want to be purely myself.
I want to forget who I am and carve out a name for myself in the headboard, lay my life’s name to rest on a headstone, and not care who mourns.
I want to rid myself of physicality, and exist in the ideal.
I don’t want to care who mourns.
Oh happy dagger…
…Conscience doth make cowards of us all
and the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er
with the pale cast of thought
and enterprises of great pith and merit
in this regard their currents turn awry
and lose the name of action
I want to be a ghost. But I can’t bring myself to my death.