Thursday, October 30, 2008


This is a sequel to what, in my opinion, is my most overrated bit of writing. Most people really haven't read this one.

Buried in an infested plot,
I dare to recollect my mind.
Vaguely recalling the myriad thoughts
and feelings I have left behind.

Poison it was that put me to rest,
poison, like a glistening knife.
Poison, that they buried with me lest
I ever come back to life.

Its not unlike a restless sleep,
filled with pointless, restless talks.
Life comes to naught when you're six feet deep
and cozy in your wooden box.

The mud here becons me to stay
as my fellow lodgers rise to the light
Beside my grave they've placed my wedding bouquet.
The rain has washed those flowers white.

As things are, the worms eat up my brain
and maggots empty out my gut.
They pour out from my leathery skin
from where those buggers made the cut.

And as my eardrums decompose,
I try recall that fateful sound
that got me stuck between two worlds
the day they put me underground.

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