From The Death I Become Ghost-Like But Free Poem by Shelta Realms

From the death I become ghost-like but free
of the frugal, lenghty talks with bamboos.
Live fiend was crushed to launch inside, the keys
of odd earthly signs of life-drugs, sex, booze.
Now I enter gaily without my trunk
thru the threshold of the dark and gloomy.
Look back, I would dare not, as i was sunk,
with thoughts of new spectrums for my body.
But iwonder where the novel lies here?
What I expect was far from my ideal!
That I would not see the face of vast fear
within me and structured notions of hell
Yet why do I dread life to be deadly?
Simple: For I want my state to vary