Formaldehyde - Poem by Thomas Taylor
The smell of death is strong in the air.
You wish you could leave but that would be insulting.
Everyone cries and dresses in black.
Time to see the body.
You walk towards it holding your breath.
You see it, still and life-like.
He looks so alive.
You lean over to get a better look.
Then it happens.
The eyes snap open and stare deep into your soul.
His hand grabs your wrist and pulls you down.
Your faces are an inch apart.
You can smell the sickening stench of formaldehyde on his breath.
Then you wake up.
Still in the chapel.
The casket is being carried out.
You stand up and follow everyone.
But you can't stop thinking about it.
About what he said.
So clear and so....scary...
'I may be in the casket,
But which of us is really dead? '
Comments about Formaldehyde by Thomas Taylor
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You