A pine box in a grave,
the walls of wood will slowly decay,
the worms will enter
and feast on your skin
till you are no longer recognizable,
not even to your own kin.
Bones caked with dirt and tears.
The walls of wood will crack and bend
till the dirt fills the void within,
fills the spaces between your ribs
and fingers
and your toes,
covering all of your bones
in that sad lonely hole.
Years pass,
and the earth grinds your bones to a dust,
till you are no longer a body,
just a part of the earth's crust.

I heard it, the moment that your heart fell from your chest.
It sounded like glass shattering
I can't lie, the sound, it was startling.
Ear piercing notes in a disheveled melody.
Alone, you were, no company
Except for the bugs in the dirt.
I dug my hands into the pieces
As they cut into my palms and finger tips.
I lifted my ****** hands to my lips,
Infused with clear fibers that once resided in your chest.
"Is this yours? Did you lose this?"