Today is the day I determine how I plan to die:
I will lay in a field,
With flowers in my hair
And gold coins on my eyes.
He will stand over my corpse,
his hands flaying helplessly
to save my naked soul
(but he cannot breathe
Life into a body's that is
Already cold.)
I want children to pick out my teeth and
Then plant them in their backyards;
So when the luscious fruit
Is picked by their tender hands
Tears can fall for their dead muse
(making my insides taste even better)
They shall be blessed
With the gift of metaphors
And they shall be hated.
The ground shall attack them
As they speak of "anti-love"
Their feet will grow weary of
Constant thorns
And heavy thoughts
(They'll give up.)
My legacy will survive in
His hands.