FRAIL
it only seems fair to warn you that this skeleton suit is my real self,
and its brittle and has not aged well at all.
when they date my dental build, they will note the extremely weathered
condition they were in, they will see that time was not kind, the worms
considerate, nor the wind calm.
i hope by examining closely the calcium deposits on my joints,
they might determine that milk did not do my body good,
nor grant me the serenity to accept the things that I could
change.
its my deepest, deepest wish to leave behind remains that will stay intact.
that i'd be a good cadaver to lay out on a table and put back together like puzzle
pieces, but i have a sickly feeling where my stomach used to be,
that when they go to lift me up i'll fade away in a dance with the dust
mites.
on second thought, my last will and testament, which you cannot hear, is that
you do not disturb me, treat my body like the door of a hotel, where two
lovers are spending time getting tangled up in one another's flesh, its not polite
to disturb, to interrupt.
it only seems fair to pay me the same respect i paid you, but not reaching a non-muscled
arm out to grab you with these bony boned fingers, lanky and chalky, seeking a hold
on your ankle.
i hope that that courtesy might be enough, might be the ticket to get you onto the train
back to where you came from, or flew on, or drove to, or teleported.
forgive me, i do not know the time,
because i'm dead, and i'm a skeleton in the earth, do what you want with me,
i guess i can't mind.
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