I'm buried deep in the ground,
No entropy, no sound.
Just the beat of my own heart,
the metronome of my restart.

Footsteps across my face.
Cracks in my coffin lined with lace.
Thoughts float in a decaying mind,
Like rotting grapes of the finest wine
(Scattered, mangled, out of line).

Caught, distraught,
I'm everything I'm not,
Hysterically dying,
While peacefully lying.

Dirt fills my cracked bones,
Amidst the earthen winter tones.
I cannot breathe, I suffocate,
Decayed to nothing, it's too late.