Black Skeletons

The mauve sky
and a glass of wine,
the lukewarm air
and a ribeye
pink in
the
middle,
as the
waves crash
the
sand,
oh so
cozy,
living it
up
sucking on
the rosy
bosom
of life's
great
grandeur,
and oh
how we think
We deserve
this for
all of our
toil and
strain,
snuggled
deep
in
the sunset
of
nirvana
and that
bliss of
oh so
glorious
oblivion,
and why
do we deserve
this?
For none
but the
rare few
think of the
black flesh
skeletons
eating dirt
and bugs
where food
does not
exist,
and do
not know
that those
withered
corpses
have names