Death Poem

In a poetry group I used to be in we had to write a poem about our deaths. This was mine.

Silent cries of wild abandon
Smothered by bloody lips pressed together:
Self-control or self-suppression?
Every effort made in vain
Feeds the bottomless void in my soul.
Shove the words in my mouth-
I’ll choke on self-assurance.
Finding worth in the gratification of others,
Purpose would be my salvation.
Needed not;
Left to rot,
I am my own desecration.
Born in the briar-patch,
It is there I die,
Cutting myself on the thorns for comfort.
La Bella Muerte is what I seek,
But no one will notice I'm dead.