I'm Really Digging This Shallow Grave

I don't really know.

Tasty the debauchery and scrumptious sin
rising forth from the deeper end.
Kiss of dragon and breath of curse, 
scream out, begging for the worst.
You, get in the back of my hearse.

Escorting you back to your cemetery plot, 
don't laugh, because the idea of them mourning is all you've got.
Nothing more than a simple driver, sir, I shall dig your shallow grave.
Sifting through the dirt, 
there is nothing anyone can do or save.
That wound is mortal, I bet it hurts.

The maggots and worms wriggled in through the cracks, 
brace yourself for their attack.
The worms and larvae hunger
for the most recently added corpse placed in the Under.
Underground, under the dirt mound, you can't hear a speck of sound.
When placed under the soil, the ground wraps tightly around.

Like the hearse, this coffin is a deep black with peeling paint and only a few cracks.
Don't like it? Your resting place could be the bottom of a potato sack.
Ha, that is what I thought. 
Sorry for the imminent onslaught
of worms and maggots, feasting on your flesh and rot.

Death is the magnum opus of inevitability.
Death is the quintessence and epitome of insatiability.
Eyeballs will be consumed
and digested. The graying, dead skin will be partaken of.
This patch of unmarked soil will become a tomb.
Say, "Au revoir," to the skies above.

The worms and maggots will nest in your chest cavity.
Feel the gravity, be wary. Be wary of the gravity.
Under your sagging, rotted skin
is where the maggots decide to make their den.
They burrow further and further in.
This is what you induced by being good 'til the end.

Reviews

[kelly ann]

wow! that final line is really a punch in the stomach. very powerful and yet hopeless at the same time. i like that irony and all the imagery.