Death In A Fresh New Suit Poem by BEAU GOLDEN

You are stifled creatively soaked in coal
You sniff the wind and smell hyacinth
You watch the children play then go home and cry
You wake up again and yearn to die

You smell the fresh night blooming jasmine
You look into a babies eyes
You watch people smile and watch them wave
From a heartless pineboxed desolate grave

You smell the honeysuckle and rose in bloom
You hideout in your darkened room
You dream of being someone new
You cannot bear to still be you.

You feel like death in a fresh dark suit
Black suit, white silk shirt, and a red silk tie
Ready for God and ready to die.
In a trance and completely high.
Death comes with a fresh new suit.