The Memory of Decay
What will the bugs taste when I die?Will regret be the first bitter flavor to bloom in their mouths As they writhe through the pallid flesh of my guts Following that same twisting dance of bitter, cloying longing? Or will joy burst and burn their insides,As they crawl through the space that once held my lungs,With the brief, beautiful life of bonfire or candle flame Leaving nothing but ashes, burnt wicks and embers in its wake? What secrets will they hear buried in my bones Echoing through every porous inch of my femur and my vertebrae?Will their antennae quiver with the sound of tragedies and…