Stoic. Everyday in every way, that is how this graveyard feels to me.
Not creepy, nor freaky, nor scary, but emotionless is how I see.
It's weird some days, it gets to me, I feel as though I don't feel at all.
The sunshine doesn't warm me, the wind isn't cool, and my emotions seem to stall.
It's days like this when the tombstones seem to speak.
but not in a manner that makes me sound like a freak.
So I wonder about death in everyway imaginable, but today I wonder about my stone.
When my lights are out and i'm tucked four feet deep, how will I be known.
Will just a name and date be fine? Maybe on the back i'll have etched a poem of mine.
Have it flashy and adorned like a shrine or have it hidden by a bush and covered in a vine.
The more I think about it, the less I care, because no matter what, my soul won't reside there.
Just my body, just a shell, surely my soul will dwell in Heaven or Hell.
When i'm laid to rest in my dirt bed and grass tucked all around me.
Please forget the reefs, don't by me flowers, and things I cannot see.
Real flowers die and it looks depressing, dead flowers on my grave.
Fake flowers fade, just like our memories, their's nothing left to save.
The beautys gone in death, let my grave be just an ugly hunk of rock.
Something for someone to mow around and a reminder that no ones beats deaths clock.
If you really miss me, and you want to tell me so. Send God up a prayer.
Cause Heaven is where i'll be and i'll be waiting for you there.
Listen up and remember what you've just been shown.
Don't come visit my grave. It's crazy to think that you'd talk to a stone