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.