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To be buried while alive is, beyond question, the most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to the lot of mere mortality. (...) The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague.

Edgar Allan Poe, The Premature Burial

The Grave-Held

I never knew, though she told him, what that passion was for.
Now it's all there but the rage to break the bore.
What lies perfectly still is by definition dead—
I wake up in this darkness to which said passion had me led.

Give it time to pass away;
Listen to the words I say.

Greenish glow, visions created by decay,
Beauty produced by the vapours from my flesh melting away.
Sorrow as thick as the covering layers above—
To unfortunate visions this stench would seem like a love.

Give it time to pass away;
I don't mean to, still I say.

It looks like one Thirst but another yet it is.
The urge to ingest a thousand fair faces, is this.
All that mountain of grief can not yet conceal this desire—
It's silent in here and it's long since the air did expire.

Give it time to pass away;
I don't mean the words I say.

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