Stuck in a Matryoshka doll

My birthday cake

leaves a waxy aftertaste.

But the corpses wear

adorable party hats.

The people in black

with shades and slack

have come to rejoice

at a funeral of my choice.

All the Helium Balloons

together yell Surprise!

And we are shitting confetti

like pipe dreams of the wise.

A happy cheer, a healthy vibe

delivered duly from 9 to 5.

I’m the mediocre kind of dead

just sincerely misled.

It’s the crescendo on the fall

and I’m stuck in a Matryoshka doll.

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