Skeletal

It's not killing me
no- I've been dead for weeks
entombed in songs, melodies,
and words
and words
and words
don't help.
They throw fists-full of dirt
and the worms come to slurp
the decay
and the spiders will weave
a nice, silky sweater
for my bones; and the leaves
leave a blanket
for the good folks to picnic
on my grave
and the groundskeeper shaves
the blades of grass
as my hair grows, untamed
yet no stone carves my name
because words won't help,
they can only be said.
but I can't, with a mouthful of maggots...

and words
not said
will leave
me
for dead.

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:-D it's been a long time.