In The End
When apologies fall on ears of
deaf corpses,
One has to wonder why the dead
are still in bed.
How long have you been whispering
sweet nothings
Into empty vessels and petrified
remains?
Furthermore, have you committed
necrophilia?
Were you so used to receiving no
response
That you got off on a once warm
body, now cold
And had yet to realize the eyes
were vacant?
And now the final decision has
got to be made
How does one properly dispose of
the rotting flesh?
Is there a testament that leaves
directions for the fallen?
Is it to be followed since
they’ve been gone for so long?
Enter stage right, the guilt and
the shame
Clad in tears and sorrow and
if-I-had-only-knowns
They play their parts as if they
were life-long roles.
Perhaps they had always been
waiting in the wings.
Your tears are worthless, for
waste water cleanses nothing.
The only one who could give them
value has gone away.
You lie next to the stench of
death, pretending you smell roses
And when you turn for a kiss, the
mirror welcomes you home.
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