Borderline

“It’s our corpses that bring us together. It’s our souls that tear us apart.” - Robbie Q. Telfer

Cause Of Death

I am not buried
six feet underground.
I reside above and beyond
these overcrowded soils.

I have two mausoleums here
and a Summer cemetery on the beach
where I visit all my deadbeat friends.

We roast marsh mellows in crematory fire pits;
make smores in bittersweet silence.
I was living my afterlife to the fullest
….until you came along.

I was driving my hearse from the church
when our corpses collided.
My soul was divided,
spreading like open arms.

As the coroner wheeled you in,
I could see the stretch marks
left behind
from where your soul
tore itself out of your skin.

And in that moment
I so desperately wanted to cremate myself;
place the urn in your chest;
let rigor mortis settle in like cement,
so that my new home
could be where your heart is.

You see, your death
was the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
I held your hand when they performed the autopsy.
No one should have to go through this alone;
the way I did.

But somehow,
you don’t seem appreciative
and my soul is too old for this.
I was beautifully decomposing
long before I took my last breath.
Your soul took flight
leaving me behind and blindsided.

I don’t need
to remove the pennies from my eyes
to notice
that the shine had worn off.

We are just too different.
You’ve got VIP access to the pearly gates,
I’ve got a one way ticket into the unknown;
I guess it’s better than an elevator
that’s going down.

I’ve grown impatient these days.
Purgatory is a waiting room
where the doctor is never in.
I don’t need
someone to check my pulse in order to know
where I am going.

I’ve adapted to my surroundings here
and I’ve grown attached to you like a phantom limb;
one that haunts this opera house I live in;
where I’ve been
masking
thoughts of you with caution tape.

I read your obituary like it’s the bible.
I keep your memorial card in my casket
so that I may rest in peace
each sleepless night here.

This is all my fault.
I’ve been digging my own grave now
for quite some time.
I’ve got plots scattered about like real estate.

You’ll be glad to know that I’ve given up
drinking
formaldehyde.
See, I’m ready to get my death on,
really start dying, you know?

Because death
is easy,
it’s life that’s hard
and I’ve been dying for something
that wasn’t worth living for
in the first place.