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Atop a catafalque, the morbid pedestal lies placed up ahead
Beautiful casket of pale birch laced with marbled ornament
With a flower orangerie settled upon final resting bed
Grand expensive suit fitted perfectly the dead man, toes to head
Funeral home better than his living home; lived cheap, died rich instead
All costs money he never had
Oh the luxury of being dead
Freestyle written in 9 minutes. Inspired by the line "The luxury of being dead" professor Timothy Corrigan used to describe a moment in the film Vertigo on a lecture yesterday.
Everforest Oct 7
Where were you,
when I fell apart,
Where were you,
when the beating in my chest ached to end,
Where were you,
when life crashed in and stole my tears away in pill bottles,
Where were you,
when I decided enough was enough.
Where are you?
I don't see you by me casket.
It's okay,
It's not the first time I've been abandoned
Invisible Oct 4
Not a coffin,
A little more elegant.
A little more stylish.
But it still holds a body all the same.
Metaphor. Sort of.
Trefild Sep 8
‣ If u were a human, & if I would have an opportunity to bury u alive
‣ I would be more than pleased to do so, no doubt
‣ the only thing I would let u take with u is a cheap pocket knife
‣ but it's not to help u make it out (it's unable to help)
‣ 'cause the casket would be metal & its lid would be sealed
‣ this would be the ending of ur story
‣ get dead naturally or get killed
‣ I don't think I would ever regret or feel sorry
Jon Thenes Jul 18

Been drinkin’ The Devil

but ****** run dry

I’ve drunk to his memory

and thirst after his family

I attended the funeral

pretended to cry

approached the open bar

and began to pry my luck

Bartender was most generous

Said he once was the Devils’ mascot

he poured me something unfamiliar

I awoke

scratching the inside of the casket

                         - i think I’m gonna be sick
Spelling has been corrected and minor alterations made, where the obvious intent and what was written deviated.
Anne J May 14
Casket of regrets of
A man with a bad past whose
life has gone to death
Final one for my school final art project for now
Bohemian Mar 25
Somewhere in a casket,
Random in my ransacked room,never opened.

I have your silhouettes stored,
Those which I presume a man would never behold.

I imagine your shoulders broad,
Splendid as a bridge across my glee,over which my eyes could be driven.

While I could be soaked in your chest,
For you be so taller.

Your skin being tight and thick,
Such as it already feels to be bugging in.

Your kurta being loose weighed down,
Revealing the sweated collar bones,and much of the rest.

Your complexion could melt upon me,
Wallowing under the sheets.

Your caustics could potentially outshine mine,
Up to the brink, your douchebaggery could shine.

You may sing anything, Ghazals or even hums,
Your baritone could lull me to sleep,with the heft and flatness of it,with some added tunes.

Our towns could be kilometers apart,or the residents even for light years,
Might be the same for our creeds.

Your breath could be a bower,
To the desert of mine.

Your eyes being shrunk crescent moon,
With the lashes too dense,but sight like an arrow piercing.

Your poetry could define,
And for being poet from you I wouldn't envy.

Your resilience could be better than mine,
And your adamant nature,suffice to repeat an act a million times,to achieve the desired.

Unlike me an ergophile,
You could draw a better parallel line.

You were allowed to smoke,
For it, I have an affinity untold.

Your profession be any,
Your passion be vehement,I promise then, to find you in graphite and mullar and heard in Mozart's.

Your hands masculine,with the veins bulged,
And circlets and totem wrapped,red and orange around.

Skies be your preferred roof
Under the rainy sky,the sharing of petrichor shall feel sanctified.

Your gales be a crescendo
Of delight.

Your age could be more to mine,
But things could be divine.
| Preferred but do not care |
She Writes Mar 13
Death must fear me too much
To take me away
So instead he takes those I love
If only death knew
I am not afraid of him
I welcome him with open arms
I stand next to her casket screaming
Ironatmosphere Dec 2017
I picture daisies on my grave
Yellow daisies swaying in the tall grass
Above the wooden casket holding my bones
Frozen in a state of perpetual summer
it is calling me
Collaborate on a spotify playlist that will play on shuffle in my casket after I go.
I want you to add songs you want me to feel the radio signals of.
We know we feel music with a fifth sense,
A full body ASMR tingle
Whispers of russian woman fixing our robot parts.
Well I can't hear you, speak, move or eat
But bones vibrate to soundwaves just the same.
Give my casket the best **** bass you can find.
Bass that will wake the dead.
Rattle me like an instrument the way you plucked strigs while we were alive
You have control over what i hear after I go
So you may play me music beautiful as we played in the space between our fingertips

Play spotify in my casket
Only you and those i trust have access to adding songs.

But don't add garbage music.
Because I swear, I will haunt you.
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