Flesh rots.
We forgot
the truth,
but you
try not to
think about it.

Getting by
is busy work
that keeps us
distracted from
what really hurts,

A nine to five,
a family unit,
a wife a child,
a job to go to.

I don’t want to
but I have to
remind you.

It is made of
wood and metal
fancy folded fabric
full of regret
and stiffness,
of roads not taken
parting paths
forgotten
with people
who got
lost on them.

You constantly
forget this
so, I have to remind you
to appreciate its
opposite.

Till, you take your turn
to get eaten or burnt
by your ******* coffin.