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On Being Recycled

the worms tickle as they scour my flesh
I'm getting used to it
but soon, I won't know anything at all

in the meantime, I'll be reminiscing
on the late me and my former life

I was a silly man
a fool
taking all for granted

and now I am dead

would this moment feel any different
had I been a king,
or world renowned,
or even a saint?

I think not!

tickling worms will always steal the show

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


good and humorous piece of writing!

"Death" is nonsense: what is there to die?
"Life"? How could " life" "die"? That is a contradiction
in terms. Can "light" become "darkness"?
"Light" can only cease to be apparent

Wei Wu Wei

And the grass grows over all graves equally. As usual, I find no suggestions for change in your poem. You really ought to mess up once in a while so we'll all be able to see you aren't perfect lol.........stan

As Stan says a great write, I can imagine you laying there with the worms tickling your bones lol, if only that was it.
Now you have thought it maybe the Gods will let you be momentarily tickled so that you arrive on the other side laughing..
Take care out there, Yours Ian.T

There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

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