for deepsix


The cloth hanged by the bed
Draped over the metal chair
A silky white dress
Meant to spread love in the air

It had been picked by both of them
Neither caring for traditions
Just as Dean didn’t even taste the cake
And decided the angel should do it instead

They hadn’t done much
Their friends and family helping them so
That neither even knew
Which flowers had been picked

In the end it didn’t matter, not really
For the dress was never used
As she was already buried deep
Six feet underneath