The Coffin Not Taken

I stand in the corner, vacant, and unsold,

I'm empty, my cushioning flashy and bold,

A man is wheeled into the shop, gray and cold,

His soul forever, mine to hold,

A woman weeps, her tears pure gold,

As her father lies in the ground, devoured by mold,

She appears so young, but her eyes so old,

It's her 18th birthday, but her sadness is uncontrolled,

It feels like a stab, multiplied by tenfold,

She looks at me, she cannot be consoled,

Back into his head the man’s eyes have rolled,

The kindom beyond, his thoughts behold,

Into the darkness he has been pulled,

But the price stays the same, as if in a mold,

I’ve been here a while and my future’s foretold,

She bargained with the cashier, but the price would still uphold,

She walked away, out of the shop and I remained unsold.