The Suicide’s Awakening

Spirits of fire, who dwell in the deep,
Why do ye torture me out of my sleep?
Angels of darkness who float in the flame,
Why are ye moaning and calling my name?
Ghosts of the unredeemed, fallen from grace,
Why do your crimson wings flap in my face?
Demons that circle under the wave,
Why are ye howling over my grave?
Back, ye fiends, back again, to the unknown;
I am a dead thing: leave me alone.
Cold are my limbs and departed my breath;
I am not living, but this is not death.