What I wish for

is not death.

It is nothing like suicide,

but more of no longer

needing to exist.

I wish that I could wink out of this life

with my consciousness drifting high

to mingle with the gentle breeze that stirs the tree leaves

while my husk,

my body,

crumbles to the ground,

left where it fell to be recycled by the earth.

What I wish for

is nothingness.

No need to want,

no need for desire,

no need to care,

no need for dependency,

no one depending on me

and me not depending on them.

What I wish for

is to be free from this lump of flesh

and tired bones.

Free from the bicker of others,

the cacophony clatter that flesh bags make

as they whine about the mess of a life they have made.

I wish for peace,

I wish for solace,

I wish for nothing but silence,

to drift among the cosmos

as life everlasting

and not have to come home.

I wish for me and me alone.