Carry me hostage out through my window at midnight
I will not scream, nor cry, nor breathe
for there is no room in this untidy room for noise
Only the crack in my door will allow
the creak of your footsteps as I accept this fate at last
As I stare at the ceiling, smoothed down since birth,
I shall be reminded of what my complexion ought to be.
And what it ought to be is what not I ought to want
For when I’m buried, it shall reflect this
wet, dirt-covered mound we live upon
And as the shovel hits the dirt for the very last time, ‘
I shall sing:
“I was never meant to die clean or pretty
Nor was I meant to live that way”
