my death will be on August 8th

the evening will be warm. and i,perched atop a hill, will observe and watch. a steaming cup of tea will be near, its smoke like fog, except it clears my mind. and,under the shard of a vase broken, a timer. tick.tick.tick.tick. one.two.three.four. click.click.click.click. i shall find my peace once more. i've planned this out bit by bit. nothing shall be wrong on the evening that i bid my last goodbye,a final farewell. to die you have to be born.