With an ailment of death,
At an age less than one would expect,
Would that make your life less?
Would you destroy the world that cut you loose,
Because you couldn't be,
A famous and impactful cynosure,
And example to all human beings?
Would the existential turmoil consume,
The thought you're not alone,
Turning all you see to a reminder,
Of all you've never known,
And never will?
Why not just end it all,
In a fantastic blaze of fire and death?
Or would you rethink it during the fall?