My Grave, Sin

What one feels for a long period of time, it will probably stay the same, forever. Indeed it is, so forget such denial. Everyday as one remembers his sin, How can he forget his grave? In which lies his destiny, With worms against his rotten limbs, "And I am surely weary of the grave," Isolated below the covered dirt, Even below the forgotten flowers. "Shame upon you," all yell, Verily, 'tis merely myself full of shame, And rather not upon me. Nay, who has chosen this for me? Or rather was I born such? Perhaps they would agree. And so, none has chosen it, Why must one be the cause of his own death, If 'tis hatred spread by the people? Oh how I wish to abolish this, And mass-destruct my feelings. O, who have known me, Forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself. I hide and weep, And I weep and hide, And soon enough, I only hide. O, who I have loved sinfully, Accept my apology, My disgusting manners, My disgusting feelings, They are unreciprocated for a reason. O, you beautiful souls, Reject me from humanity. Let the Universe destroy me. Let the universe itself become an instrument of my demise, as it tears down my existence, molecule by molecule, atom by atom, in the relentless pursuit of equilibrium.