Evil Musings Of A Funeral Director

A dark poem.

The glittery surface on which you lay sparkles so fine.
Ceramic, cold to the touch. 
I leave you here on this slab for convenience, 
Plus, I really do love it here.

Grief fills the hallways to the brim,
Tears from the ones left behind;
Creates pools of salty water.
I would bathe you in the tears — if I could.

Refined taste, I say it is.
I am picky and slow to choose. 
Alabaster skin, soft and pouty lips.

You are my favorite pastime.

Your neck, full of tags — you’re expensive.
An overdue payment to the reaper.
Little bumps of skin that show your age.
Pluck, pluck, I pluck them off.

Speckles of blood remain, glistening. 
You lay so still, almost dead
But you’re not.

With arms crossed your chest,
Resting with a coffin-like glow.

You are my only pastime.

They looked for you,
Signs, television appeals,
You were so damn easy to steal.
Skinny to the bone, I lifted you right up.

I’m not insane! I’m in love.
In love with you my darling.
They will never find you,
A jewel lost in the watery caverns of my secret Atlantis.

You are my forever pastime.

Now rest dear sweet, for I have much work to do.
You need a friend or…two;
They won’t ever be as pretty as you.

You are no longer a pastime, you are simply mine.

Prompt by Ravyne Hawke in Promptly Written “Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” ― Marilyn Monroe”