Your Funeral

Poetry Project #11

I’ll dig you a grave–

I’ll go six feet deep

You have misbehaved;

for your soul I won’t weep.

I’ll make you a tomb

for your soul to rest;

your fate is your doom–

hide deep in your nest.


How should you depart,

from a hand or a tool?

Who will rip you apart

as I watch you drool?

Your face  will contort

as your shirt soaks in the red.

I’ll laugh and I’ll snort

until you’re finally dead.


Your body I’ll drag–

to your grave it goes!

Your leg there, it lags,

now food for the crows.

I see by that crest,

as you’re pushed over the side;

your body now rests

in this hole to hide.


You’re buried forever–

never to be seen again.

This pain I’ve endeavored

now dissipates into the terrain.

~2000 (age 17)


Photo Credit


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