Romanticizing Skeletons Poem by Laurel E

I might want to be a skeleton
one with skin that looks nice in clothes
that has redefined fingers,
hands that fit around a waist,
and concaved cheekbones

hurry,

I have a wedding dress I need to fit into
made of lavish mahogany,
comedically box-shaped,
as of now, it'd latch so tightly onto my figure
that I could never escape

the harsh, brutal words of reality
that I die ugly

and I accept the fate
that my eyes are sunken,
and my bones remain hidden,
still, I've allow myself to be beautiful
at the cost of sin

We all become skeletons
eventually, the man in the cloak will greet you
the only difference between you and me
is that this scary man won't eat you