I've spent the last five years constructing a place to rest,
built to lay every piece of me.
It's rose wood, stained black and glossed.
I trimmed each edge with red,
and held it together with stainless steel, blood, sweat and tears.
Every condescending comment,
each lie told,
forgotten dreams,
and ambitions,
all structural foundation.
Blankets of black and blue hue placed inside,
were my mother's keepsakes to me.
Tar pit lungs and an old liver,
laid with so I could sleep.
Set me down,
and bury me with this coffin I built.