top of page

THE FUNERAL OF GOD

By Adrianna 'Drienne' Buczek



I dig in the petrichor-smelling ground

until my hands were bruised

and fingernails bled

I crawled into dark corridors

of this underground existence

to find your body

to see that you're dead


I found your rotting meat

the smell sharpened my senses

I wanted to rip your tissues

in an act of hatred

why did you leave me

where are you?


And then, just now

the cold truth under my fingers

begins to sober me up

your presence in front of me

just as you are

there is no fucking soul

nowhere else around

we're just meat


some cells, enzymes, compounds

your whole selfhood

proteome, genome, splendid phenotype

physically sufficient

rotting in the ground

I felt like I was at your second

funeral


© Copyright Dark Poets Club

bottom of page