COLD, STILL DEAD

I lay cold and still,

In a icebox of steel and brass;

Right next to the East windowsill,

With frames ornamented with brass.

 

I lay cold and white,

Surrounded by the living in not but name,

In a hall so clean and white,

With coffee in hand and flames in eyes.

 

I lay cold and still,

Watching with dead eyes,

Those pretend to love and miss,

And those who dare not show their despise.

 

I lay cold and dead,

With none to grieve and mourn,

Save for a few who would move on

Leaving me cold, still, dead.