If only there was a
spark of hope somewhere,
something to give me
the courage to endure
entombment, anything
to look forward to while
my mind riles against
being buried, watching the
friendly gravediggers
pour sand over my cask –
something behind my
mask of expressionless,
meaningless remarks
helping time pass
I'm tired, a fatigue
so big it engulfs the whole
world, destroys every
word that ever seemed
precious to me;
sinking, eyes closing, body
stiffening – and you
unaware, only too glad
this is a noiseless
prisoner; belief in freedom
to create a different
afterlife sweetens the
passage of time but
requirement to look at
dead
bodies all the time is so sickening…
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