In all these scenarios I’m afraid
I’m brave. I’m heroic
And then the outside creeps
I think of the coffin, so narrow and dark
I think of the six feet of earth
so dense and suffocating
I think of the rain soaking that earth wet, crawling with worms
my body rotting in decay
Please don’t ever bury me
Please don’t ever bury
If you can’t find the time to burn me in cremation, then please
At least give my body to science, or feed it to wild beasts, or throw it to the fish or something!
But I can’t stand the thought of being buried. It’s terrifying.
Everywhere I go I see the end
A plane crash diving through the air, nearly vertical looking out the window
Then back at the stranger next to me.
And I can only smile. 🙂
I dream of death but only in beautiful motion
It’s never laying in bed, ugly with sores or old worn stretched skin
It’s always tragically grand and I am always young
Perhaps it’s because I am young.
A fight to the death with my sworn enemy.
Some medieval joust
My maiden weeping as I lie limp in her arms on the evening grass
Or maybe a battle at sea screaming “Poseidon!”
or caught in a crossfire in a grove of old oak trees
I dream of death, but only in beautiful motion
And it’s always in slow motion.