From the Soul-Well: 17

So you have come at last to that standing point in your life
The one where you cannot recall what has been done
When you cannot bury the tainted memories
And your soul writhes as you examine your mistakes
So the squirming begins down below your toes
The snake-ropes of guilt crawl up your body swiftly
You try to think of other things
Then weep when you fail
Ha ha ha now you've got the curse
A spider's web of lies tangles your mind
Can you see the truth, stranger?
Or are you as blind as them all?
Are you willing to be doomed to my demise?
A puzzle, you ponder as youth gives way to the old crone
Then lips seal, eyes close and chest breathes no more
With the certainty you shall suffer this tragic fate
The means were never important, only the monotonous end