TORRENTIAL PAIN RELEASED

Listen, Bambina,
The year’s La Niña,
Which means things
Are wetter than usual,
Not better than usual,
Just deader than usual
Since go-getters are unusual.
I therefore advise the wise
To bring rain and protective gear,
My drenched dears,
Who’ve been drained and
Dropped here; blamed, pained,
Raped and robbed in the rear
Of the unturned cemetery’s
Storms like we haven’t seen in years.
Folks here aren’t quenched by beer.

All are too overwrought with fear,
As death biers are built to the hilt
To showcase each recent
Decedent’s flashy funeral flair,
Plumped and embalmed from
Bare to spare to meaty rare,
Approximating “live” and fair,
Still growing nails and hair.
Yet in other ways I hate,
A deceased state can eviscerate
The belief that Fate won’t obliterate
Beyond compare, with unfair endings
The only fare offered there.

So if you dare bear a bier
Instead of a knave or sleepy slave’s
Shallow, unhallowed grave,
Please know we think you’ll love it Here,
The place all newly passed souls
Are safe, well, and treated as dear,
Where criers aren’t taunted by prior tears
Nor the scared haunted by stir-fried fears.
We all agreed we’d always release
Only joy into our atmosphere.
It’s so different from the dire dearth
And shortage of Love on planet Earth.
You’ll long for a revision
Of your grubby vision,
To the point of near-division.

It’s the only forecast thorn,
So consider yourselves warned:
In retrospect, you won’t respect
Yourself your life was fully wasted
By the dreary way it tasted.
For those drowning in self-hate,
Fate always dictates
Each bite is always ate,
Be it overly forlorn or
Rancid with scorn.