Sunny day, in May

To be or not to be, 'tis not the question,
But where, what and how.

To be or not to be...

Unearthed in place wheres scales tipped,
Calloused self at site,
Nerves scream and groan in misery; eyes
forever moist.


Will the sould find calm?
Or will it be garned,
With crown's of thorns, to forever morn,
The birth of birth of birth.

Red soaked claws of all the whips,
Long, short, thick n thin, eye candy for the sore.

I live to die, one sunny day,
On occasion of my native May.

Who'm I; such a scale; what I to do?
Dig crater's upon the face, unleash noise undue?
Iron fists clenches lungs, my heart, my gut, my face,
Lovely lies do chew and gouge all of every sweet grace.

I live to die, one sunny day,
On occasion of my native May.
To be or not to be, 'tis not the question,
But where, what and how.