Standing by Mitchell's grave.

There’s this sick feeling wrenching me apart.
Blocking out everything, hunger, hurt and oh the Holding.
My smell feeding me only the sick, it’s just beginning to start.
But through my fear there’s something molding.

Did you always know I’d feel like this standing by your grave?
I barely knew you, but your family wrap their arms around me.
Tears taunting my tired skin, it seems almost laughable to be your slave.
Six solid feet under, it’s you who would wake the most free.

A shudder, gripping. Paralyzing, rumbles through my rigor.
I hate. Fuck you. die. Waste away. Leave me be, but your already gone.
I am old and as lame as a mule, but you’ve become something bigger.
A memory a thought, as passing joke. In all these things your something drawn.

I want to dig, deep, determined. Into the depths of your casket.
That salted earth won’t stop me coming, by passion, by hate, to your rest.
Mother, father, dear loved ones pile into the waste paper basket.
Why didn’t you just stay clung to my breast?

Fame, fortune, family, fate, friends and followers surrounded thee
The bull behind me has been brought forth and it cries milky black tears.
A wild beast that ruins your entire world. walking amongst the debris.
No motherly matador can kill me by her soulful spears.