Found

You must untangle my dry veins,
You must monitor my dark blood,
You must wipe the blurry undead tears from my mask,
And squeeze the small pox from my lips.

you must clamp my crushed ribs,
You must move the gun from my face,
And shoot it through my lungs.

The date of my date of my death brushed away,
While I am walking away from heaven,
The gawkers wonder why they can see my skeleton,
As it decays right there.