Death Becomes

OK so i know its rough. But WTF.

Death becomes us,
We who woe,
With swollen eye and bile puss,
This is what we show.
To feelings that are ploy,
And yet we look so fair.
I am not your toy,
But you don’t care.

In dark thoughts,
And painful memory,
We the putts,
Your emotional infirmary.
Are in last place,
For your devotion,
So one thing to chase,
Is this Romeo emotion.

We ask not for pity,
Nor your spiritual huff,
Though you are witty,
And have the right stuff,
We are the ones you hold,
When you must cry,
But all we get is the cold,
The cold of you mockful sigh.

In love and hell,
The two the same,
One thing I can tell,
That both you can not tame.
So we bitter few,
Who are tear torn,
Will call on you,
But will get only your scorn.