I know there’s a whole
world of light above me.

I’ve been pushed and been shoved,
buried and dug up so
many times
being buried alive is
old news now.

Gravekeepers make
their rounds while purple
flowers picked
in town are
laid to rest in ways you and I never were.

Yes, the worms have found
I’m prettier without skin;
its creatures trapped within are
more aware of
how to live than

their former hosts.

But the fever in my heart that once taught me to depart a scene without sentimentality- the source of my eventual fatality- bestowed a final gasp that finally taught me to breathe, and with a wicked laugh it basked in

the ironies of
my youngest ire,
as my chance to ever

it transpired.

It lit a fire in my spirit not even
death can untangle like
a knife’s edge through wire,
ergo why I’m

the corpse walking
around wearing
a soiled suit.



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