As told by the blaqknyght (@blaqknyght)

Play dead, do not roll over.

Play stare, do not blink.

Then they’d finally believe,

That you are dead,

They’ll even pronounce it,

They’ll spell it on paper

If you are relevant enough.

No, you are not me,

Face up in the canal

Whose corpse made you retch.

Aren’t you all dandy? Lying in state;

In your finest colors,

That feigned indifference Is a lie.

I see a smug smile

Underneath your facade of death.

I’ll smile to you my friend,

From clothes of metal mesh

A metamorphosis from when

 Rubber tires adorned me

And petrol was my cologne

I died, didn’t I?

 Then this makes us brothers;

This fate we share,

The flowers of death

Pollinated by the kiss of youth. 

Those fine pillows in the coffin,

They suit you better I swear it.

I’m content with my bed of moss. 

PS: Your wallet lies beneath your mistress’ bed

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