My End. Poem by Saint Cynosure

Three Monkeys of wicked
this paint on my wall.
Each one of my mirrors,
watching me fall.
Back into something,
true once planned before.
With nothing to run to,
I walk out the door.
Step into darkness,
last breath of the night.
Exhale the foulness,
blinded by light.
Confused in this sorrow,
confested in rest.
Till judgment is borrowed,
Ill scratch out this test.
Inch out my 6 feet,
one spoon at a time.
Shovel,
to shovel,
to shovel,
no hurt.
asleep for forever,
Incaptured in dirt.