In The End
When apologies fall on ears of deaf corpses,
One has to wonder why the dead are still in bed.
How long have you been whispering sweet nothings
Into empty vessels and petrified remains?
Furthermore, have you committed necrophilia?
Were you so used to receiving no response
That you got off on a once warm body, now cold
And had yet to realize the eyes were vacant?
And now the final decision has got to be made
How does one properly dispose of the rotting flesh?
Is there a testament that leaves directions for the fallen?
Is it to be followed since they’ve been gone for so long?
Enter stage right, the guilt and the shame
Clad in tears and sorrow and if-I-had-only-knowns
They play their parts as if they were life-long roles.
Perhaps they had always been waiting in the wings.
Your tears are worthless, for waste water cleanses nothing.
The only one who could give them value has gone away.
You lie next to the stench of death, pretending you smell roses
And when you turn for a kiss, the mirror welcomes you home.