I’m going to dance on your grave.
I will hoot and holler and stomp up and down
Rattling your bones in that bag of loose flesh that’s slowly melting off .
I will scream into the ground that was savagely ripped up
And then squished back in around that shiny box.
I will lay on my belly and read my favorite books
And laugh raucously at all the best parts.
I will swear and kick the somber stone at your head
And howl when I bruise my foot.
I will sit crisscross-applesauce on the grass in August
And sing Christmas carols.
I will do whatever I feel like doing
With little concern for what you’d think.
Because it isn’t your grave.
It’s mine.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
I’m going to dance on your grave.
I will hoot and holler and stomp up and down
Rattling your bones in that bag of loose flesh that’s slowly melting off .
I will scream into the ground that was savagely ripped up
And then squished back in around that shiny box.
I will lay on my belly and read my favorite books
And laugh raucously at all the best parts.
I will swear and kick the somber stone at your head
And howl when I bruise my foot.
I will sit crisscross-applesauce on the grass in August
And sing Christmas carols.
I will do whatever I feel like doing
With little concern for what you’d think.
Because it isn’t your grave.
It’s mine.
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