There have always been horror stories
about being buried alive.
Sure, it's slow,
it's quiet,
and it's painful.
And it's a rational fear
I suppose.
But people forget
that some don't want to be buried
and would rather have their body burned.
And the only thing
more terrifying
than being six feet under
and still breathing
is being locked in that oven
and having it heat up all around you
and seeing the flames like little orange tongues darting over your skin
and knowing
that the only people who have occupied that same spot
have been long dead
and never had to feel this heat.
This oven
is for those that are already dead,
like a coffin.
A metal coffin
that is a one way ticket
to the fires of hell.
It is a forbidden place
known only to those
who have passed on
and the unfortunate few
who have spent their last moments and last breaths
screaming at the flames.
For me,
to sit nearby and watch and listen,
the show is never long enough,
but for them,
well, it'll feel like it never ends.
And that's the good thing about it:
you could never really hear the screams when they were six feet under.
Now I can sit right next to it
and hear the screams
and feel warm and cozy
and imagine that I'm resting by the fire
on a cold winter's night.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts and Things
PoetryA thing. A thing in which I write some poetry. I've never really written much poetry, so... yeah. Exciting. It can get spooky sometimes. (By spooky, I mean that it can get dark. Trigger warning in advance, just in case.) Tread lightly. I'm obviously...
