Death Conniption Poem by Colter Castillo

Graves are peculiar stones
Every pest makes little homes
Crinkled in the cracked archway
In the corners

What do you say about the grey
Do you really want it that way
If I had a say I couldn't say
I'd want my grave to stay that way

So grey so drab
Like the undertaker's knapsack
He's getting paid minimum wage
To work at the dawn's crack

When you look into the corpse's eyes
Do you feel envy or you feel pride
The latter forms a normal mind
The former is further from normal

Somebody call a doctor cause
We've got a basket case
Of suicidal tendencies
Run rampant in his base

All because he likes grey.