Death and Donuts

There is such a gilded shine on those who die

As though the dead are donuts displayed in a glass case

Only they collect dew and tears in a wood box

There's nothing sweet about their departure

Much like the crumbs left over after donuts

The powdered sugar stains our fingertips

Do we stain ourselves with regret when life dies?

We lick both off greedily in the end.

What sweet poison to distract us from pure sorrow

Yes, when the dead die, think of pastries

It's much easier to eat our feelings than face them.