Color me in.
I lie naked and
wrapped in white linen-
A corpse.
If only my mind could
lie still as my body.

Let them carry me
to the incinerator.
But the pallbearers
have heard my death rattle,
they've found me out.

But I am an island now.
It is quiet here, only
remnants of Chopin

and little gold rings,
ashes,
a story in Braille,
what else have you got?

I'm so tired of being
the Phoenix in this tale.