deepundergroundpoetry.com
All Dressed Up
I confess I may not be dressed up enough for my death
what, with the shit in my pants and my absence of breath
and my shirt not matching the gloss in my eye
nor my newly-worn hemp rope tie
But the invitation read casual casualty
an insinuation of indifferent informality
towards the incineration of my forgotten face
which I can't imagine being different from this place
There's nothing worse than being cursed
and denied the friendly fires within death's hurried thirst
than being buried and rotting from all that you know
unburned, all dressed up, with nowhere to go
what, with the shit in my pants and my absence of breath
and my shirt not matching the gloss in my eye
nor my newly-worn hemp rope tie
But the invitation read casual casualty
an insinuation of indifferent informality
towards the incineration of my forgotten face
which I can't imagine being different from this place
There's nothing worse than being cursed
and denied the friendly fires within death's hurried thirst
than being buried and rotting from all that you know
unburned, all dressed up, with nowhere to go
Published 9th Jan 2018
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The author encourages honest critique.
9th Jan 2018 11:54pm
I get a sense of needing to present ourselves
Not dressed up for death, like we have to put on a display when we suffer.
Great, very honest and well written.
Not dressed up for death, like we have to put on a display when we suffer.
Great, very honest and well written.
24th Feb 2018 1:57am
Thank you for your comment, MisanthropicShyness. I like your view on my poem. No need to put on a display for anyone when suffering, and especially when you die or kill yourself. It's always pretty in the movies, but in reality, death is a pretty nasty thing. It's best in my eyes to burn and incinerate the physical remnants of the deceased.
