Some people die many deaths
there’s grief at ever turn
and the aching has scorched
so much of their soul
the fire no longer burns
In past, evil would frighten
Or shock or leave a hard question
But when you get used to constant destruction
for pain, you feel you were destined
Do you ever wonder what will happen when you die? Some are buried and some move to ashes, but how long before the living forget? Or how long until they notice your absence. Unless someone told them, would they even realize?
They may shed a tear and some may weep for a while, but most will only pause and return to life as usual.
It won’t take long for the sadness to fade and the memories to become only flashes of pictures in the mind that come and go with the wind.
Then years go by and only a date or two remain significant of what was your life. A birthdate, a death date, Mother or Father’s Day, a Holiday tradition here and there… but even then, families continue to morph and little by little you drift further and further away from thought.
There will be an empty place at the table, but there already is, and it’s at your own. No one visits, no one calls, there’s no engaging unless need or pity surface. There’s no more laughing, the music has stopped. It’s as if living has already ended, yet you’re still here to witness the void.
Your waking hours feel like death, over and over. And you’re scared to pull the trigger… but even that fear starts to get quiet the louder the aching, nagging, and unbearably distant hope becomes.
It’s been so long since you felt hope you wonder if it was ever a thing to begin with.
There’s failure all around you and they’re your pieces to pick up. And people see strength, but they see what they want to, because seeing reality would be too painful. They would disrespect you and cry, “pathetic, fraud!” if they only knew just how painful living is. If they knew your thoughts they may offer sympathy but would then haul ass in fear, afraid somehow despair is contagious.
Then one day, the memories will be no more.
The only people left will be those who never knew you,
and your name at best
will be carved in a stone,
with weeds and fire ants
making their home
as your body lies as it lived, alone.
Yes, I wonder what will happen when I die… but I don’t know if it will be much different than when I tried to live.