I will make a beautiful corpse one day
As the pink in my cheek, finally fades away.
And the cellulite drips, drips from my bones
While the flames lick the stretch marks,
Made from making my body a home.
The laugh lines will dissolve, along with my teeth,
No longer there to greet a stranger on the street.
My copper hair will dull and singe, right on the spot,
No wind to feather the strands to a knot.
The anxiety and memories will all meld to one,
And sift through a grate as they are finally undone.
What is left will be the essence of me, or is this a fallacy?
Will culture have found a way to bite through my bones?
Trickle into my marrow and delve further below?
The particles that I breathe sucked far into my soul,
Clogging and infecting until we are all but drones.
If even there is left a sliver of my soul,
Then a beautiful corpse I shall make one day.
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