The decaying of a dead body is natural

A rotting corpse of a somehow taken life.


The cold feeling a beat less heart and empty veins runs deep

As I look at the bold gravestone.


A gravestone that will in time by engraved with my name
The magnificent beauty of my small new home created just for me.


Stained wood, chrome, gold, or silver with incredible comfortable padding

The luxury of a good nap without the frivolous cares of the living.


I will be blind, deaf, and thoughtless

And the chaos of the world will no longer be ob my shoulders.


Nature is bound to become one with me

And her roots will become my veins and my veins hers alike.


The music will play

And the tears will fall.


Flowers will be throne at my finely polished wood

But the smell of flowers will never be appreciated

And a part of me will they become.