I Want To Work With The Dead (In progress)

No cruelties are uttered by their stiff mouths

No looks of contempt graze their cold eyes

No obscene gestures, made by their clammy hands

Nothing but silently respectful listening, 

Giving you their undivided attention

And letting you take the spotlight for once


No making or breaking of plans

Because they always stay in the same place

No grimace when you tell a bad joke, 

Can be seen on their face

I want to work with the dead, because I know I'll never be rejected

They'll never ever make me feel dejected.


While the living world breeds fear, 

The calmness of the dead draws me near, 

A place of utter bliss,

Without fear of judgement

From any living pedant.


Oh, the dead entice me with their contemplative silence and

Their noncomformity from society, where being alive is in

And death breeds fear.

And, I know, that, unlike the living,

No dead would ever harm me.


They give me hope, for I know that the meat on that cold metal slab,

Is not the end of human existence.

They give me hope,

That life goes on, 

A never ending, bipolar, song


Not even the smell of rotting flesh and formaldehyde could keep me away.

They freely give of all the secrets that lie inside a body of decay

Oh, how I wish to work with them one day.

This poem is about: 


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