When death stretches your eyelids,
so tight you don’t have time to rewind,
to have tea with your demons,
to repent and regret and relinquish yourself,
they stay rigoured,
a forced awakening of your last moments.
Only a life of sin would force your eyes open upon death, as if to say,
“watch yourself burn.”
An afterlife of eternal unrest,
reserved for the wicked.