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

Me.

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.

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