Walking through the structure among a million different worlds,
So many so available.
I wonder which one to choose?
I've taken all the time I could,
To make the right decision.
But still I don't know which to choose among the many given.
I walk and peer and dawdle too,
Hours upon days,
Trying to figure out which painting is the one that's destined to be my next home.
I stop dead in my tracks.
It's painfully obvious,
That Munch is the man I will choose.
The one in the painting with eyes wide in horror...
I have to know why, how, and what for.
I inhale the familiar, clean air for the very last time.
My days in this world are closing in.
My eyes are sewn shut,
My feet pull forward.
The first breath is rebirth,
On a strange, new, desolate road.
No sooner do my feet hit the ground
Than my face is hit with incredibly blistering winds.
My skin begins to crack and flake with each gust,
Blowing every part of me out of existence.
My bones are no longer hidden beneath youthful skin,
My clothes have long since deteriorated,
And now I am nothing but crumbling bone,
Turning to ash in the toxic wind.
The last of me is drifting...
I want to cry, shriek, and yell
But funny enough,
The immortal man beside me has already done that and more...
The man christened "The Scream".
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