They shoot horses, don't they?

Feeling sorry for myself, I internalize and realize the screams I hear are MINE...loudly echoing...reverberating...reminding me...I...AM...ALIVE!  So...this is not a great thing...jailed in flesh which cannot be ripped off nor escaped from...there must be a zero zone where bone and muscle play no part, but yet that which I think...and...I do think...will my thoughts stay with me?  I don’t ask for much of such and such as it is not worth the penny paid... the want to die is not as bad as THIS... nor...is...it...sad...to part...I long to part of a natural cause...NOW...but how?  How does one shed a prison when there are no walls to climb or claw?  Hamlet wanted an escape, but he...oh...yes...right...he believed that he would be damned for the taking...his choice stemming from an external factor...chained to his religion...a prisoner...he did not foil Laertes’ plan...Hamlet can no longer ponder, “To be or not to be...” as he is no longer...lucky man...no same chains here, but chained so as not to be unkind to another...others...I stay...watching time...I see its face and watch its arms as the chicken legs defrost.  They shoot horses, don’t they?