"What haunts you but that which is within you?"
"From the Hairs of your Head
To the Tips of Your Toes,
Up and down thy back
The Hand of my Spirit Goes"
Look for me in the mirror. Listen for my voice in the static of a radio.
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I don't want a tombstone. I want my corpse to be tied down shirtless to a primitive wooden raft, sent off to sea with cuts and bits cut off. Some guy on a ship will just see me and be like "what the -blam!- happened to this guy"