The Art of Coming Apart

I am closer to freshly earth below than to spirited air above
Sure enough, to breath means to live
But do i have any breath, any lungs?
And above all i’m waiting and sharing tides for a deathless while
Touching land like an anchor, irrevocably run aground admits the yet uncovered
Heaven remains silent, ground talks in whispers
Thou grand charmer-longing for this morbid flirt
Eternal rest grant to me!
'Cause nothing seems as perfect as the art of coming apart
Beneath the dead standing tree, all is covered with coal-black leafage
Ground is gone…
Somehow strange, i tough feel save
I am counting static clouds, time and time again echoing the same line:
«I envy the Calm»
Am i immune to life?
Thou sage of absurd!
I am breathless furthermore I’m sleepless!
I am nameless, lately i’m soulless!
I am about to decide deadness, my inside-a Stygian darkness
And above all i’m waiting and sharing tides for a deathless while
Touching land like an anchor, irrevocably run aground admits the yet uncovered