Murder Ballad: The Zipper (2nd revision)

When you die
you are given a choice
on how you will be reincarnated:
not
"animal or human,"
but
"animate or inanimate."
I chose the latter and
bang,
I’m smiling tonight,
every chrome tooth showing
all the time whether my mouth is closed
or open.  It’s satisfying
to be protecting this,
concealing this awful wrecked face
from his wailing next of kin,
so they don’t have to confront
how useless their son of a bitch relative
was and still is.

It’s going to be a long cold ride
from here to the morgue.
I’m perfect
for the job:  I was this cold in life,
and dark as the stiff plastic
I’m clutching now.  My burden
is leaking blood and I’m uncaring,
knowing it’ll all be over soon.

I wanted to be a guitar
but at least I get
to play one exquisite note
three times.
How many guitars
get to say they’ve played a man
from death to forgetting? 
I’m a rockstar
at last, if only a one hit wonder:
when they’re done with me,
I know they’ll burn me up.

Next time, I’ll be a fly.
Once you’ve found your calling,
you stick with it.