This World
This World
They lay his body down,
Bruises lined his body;
Bandages – fresh and faded.
A mummy unintended, unordered for.
The scars of afflictions – some self,
And some who knows whose.
He’s set for his incarnation,
One he wasn’t sure of,
But hoped for anyway.
What if there isn’t any?
Bruises will stay infested,
Bandages will wear out,
And scars will tell no tales
Wouldn’t I prefer a bulged brain,
A cancer-consumed brain,
A monster of a brain?
A monster head over an unafflicted body,
A body unaffected by pain,
And afflicted by joys of the world,
Is what I wish for.
Bulges wouldn’t bend my head.
The monster that I am,
I’d give you a body to bury,
And thoughts to think.
That seems a fair bargain!
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