To die as an art

Rodents scurry
around my head’s attic
gnawing on what’s left to ponder
at nights where my ideas
tend to wander and depart

I can feel their little nails
tapping across the tiles
but now finally broken into tiny piles
this is where lunacy has it’s start.

I wish for a wallowing to occur
though my audience’s opulence
might silence my pain in time
But all that glitter and gold
is hard for them to part
I hope in time what I do will render you speechless
 and Death will be my greatest work of art..