Will it really feel like heaven if I have to kill so much of myself to get there? Will they care that I am missing all of my most interesting parts or will they simply be pleased that I am the right shape. Will ghosts of my lost potential doggedly pursue me, even in eternity Whispering, amidst the celestial choirs, an eternal damnation of the sweetest strains. Will they notice me bleeding out on the mansion floors?
A Penny for Your Thoughts 