I want to die on 9/11,
One cold November morning,
One week before my birthday.
That way no matter the years I live
I'll look younger on my gravestone.
I want to die in a city in flames,
Covered with rubble,
Burned and bloody; one of a crowd,
With only my teeth to identify me
(I should probably see the dentist).
I want to eclipse the massacre,
Be it caused by mother or man;
I want the news to say I'm gone
Along with several thousand others
And have no one really care.