more than half the time i am awake and lying there in my grave.
i am not dead yet, just lying there-in the sense that lying to others has killed me.
because i am a bad, bad person. and i have learned many things in my youthful life.
i am old and wise and now i am dead too.
there just isn't anything you could do
to save me.
this is it, i whisper to myself, as i tell my last lie.
i close my eyes and cut my hair off to shed off the dead cells i have attained from you
and i begin to sew my ugly lips shut because all my life they have said things
that have only gotten me in trouble.
the dirt around me is cold and comforting
and the insects in my flesh have kissed every square inch of my body,
death is much better than walking
the earth with a crown
of lies.
r.k.
YOU ARE READING
Meathead Monologue
PoetryI wanted everyone and everything; all the time and all at once. [volume ii] [poetry and prose] [2017-2019]
