Bottom of a Tomb

I saw mine buried in the bottom of a tomb, returning to the earth, that kind of thing. I knew the worms and maggots, they'd have their way, they'd crawl and devour and destroy slowly but surely. I kept mine in my head, a picture perfected, surrounded by light, no dirt. I shoveled, dirt on my shoes, underneath my fingernails, I watched it slip away. Or I was pushing. Or something pulled. Or it was inevitable. Or it could have been any other way. I saw mine one last I always time, and every time I close my eyes, and every time I open them, and always and forever. You can dig and bury and bury and dig, but there is no escape.