The Day That I Died
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Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?...
The day that I died,
I went for a ride,
I was packaged like a gift,
Stuffed and nailed into a box.
I felt special,
I felt loved,
Nothing more could be enough,
For the day that I died,
Was the day I felt alive.
The day that I died,
I was opened with a knife,
I underwent an examination for the loss of my life.
They ripped apart my organs,
And stuffed them with cotton,
And stitched me back up.
They clothed me,
They housed me,
God only knows my appreciation for their hospitality.
The day that I died,
They sewed shut my eyes,
I’m no longer vulnerable to the light,
Or at the risk of growing blind.
You see, they’re just being kind.
I felt seen,
I felt cared for,
All the more reason for a handful,
For when they feel my ashes in their hands,
The salt of my disintegrated flesh will nourish the delicate wrapping of their
skin.
Oh, the glow of the fire has grown dim.
Oh, the day that I died,
I was put on display,
During the days of early May.
All dolled up for the viewing of my family,
For the day that I died,
I finally felt happy.
I felt happy,
I felt joyful,
All the more different than the ones who were mournful,
But the day that I died,
Was the one time I was hopeful.
The day that I died,
I was hidden from the sky,
The ritual of a mere shovel in hand,
And the soft compacted grains of the dirt and of sand.
I felt the weight of the dirt,
I felt the weight of isolation,
I like to think of it as a way of simple protection,
For my own progression.
And... Now that I’ve died,
I’m unable to cry,
For I am not alive,
And they sutured my eyes,
But I still like to think,
That if I could,
The tears would drip from the string and thread that are formally fastened
into my eyes.
For this,
I feel cared for,
I feel tended to,
For there is no sign of my skin, bruised and blue,
For I was not mistreated,
I was not mishandled,
When I was subject to my dead flesh rotting near the dining candles. When they stared
deep into the mirrors of my departed soul,
I felt the world I once called home come to an end,
when the lid of my casket came to a close.
But it's okay,
I was sent away,
I was sent back home,
Because darling, even in death I am not alone...
The morning that I died.
I went for a ride,
I was packaged like a gift,
Stuffed and nailed into a box...
I felt special,
I felt loved,
For the day that I died I was finally enough.
