Spoken Posthumously in Red


Death.
I welcome him as a friend.
I mean, why wouldn't I
Want to dance with my end?

There is a certain comfort
in knowing him so close,
and knowing that my epitaph
will be free of cliché prose.

"Here he is," it will read,
"And in death he still lies.
As in death
the dirt only adds to his disguise."

And above will be a stone,
carved in the image of me
(In my true form)
displayed for all to see.

It will be simply be cut jagged,
rough and sharp and broken,
with a jutted crack down the center,
ended with seven words unspoken.

This last message will be etched in red,
mimicking the passion of my last bend.
In bold, these words will be written:
"I'm not sorry, I welcome my end."

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