Funerals are for the living
Not the dead
That said
Who will pipe our souls to heaven
Without the scores who mourn
And sing their hymns of sweet grace?
Death awaits
Arms open
Mouth agape
We are drawn
To kiss
That yawning maw
Inevitably
Endlessly
Marching
To this certainty
That said
I hope that death
Dresses up for me
Paints it’s face
Puts on a dress
And walks with a whore’s grace
So when I approach it in that dark alley
X number of days hence
I’ll be eager to make it’s acquaintance
And run to it’s embrace
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