Saturday, March 18, 2017


Smell's a little different,
Musty cold, underground,
Still it is far more decent of a sight,
Than nothing at all found,

The bitterness of true frigidity,
Without no protection,
You're passed by as if you do not exist,
Actu'lly a fair determination,

It's better that this six feet underground,
Hasn't been filled with dirt,
There is so much that I have yet to do,
Death cannot even flirt,
It's stay or go,
There is no in between,
Not that things couldn't go on anyway,
Or that once gone you would miss anything.

No comments: