Breath
 
 25/5/97 5 AM
 Charles Dum
 
 I was born for dying-
 A cold, meaningless death.
 Nothing can save me,
 Not until my last breeath.
 
 The drunken state of slumber
 Has nothing to compare,
 To fresh rain and
 Crisp spring air.
 So do not into me breath life
 To prolong my being-
 But leave me to die
 By my own bidding.