No mark of the manner
in which I died
Freed as if I were
of any reason to live
I just walked out of the body
Like a tenant
whose lease was up
The furniture I chose
to leave behind
Too heavy to carry
if I were to float
between realities
At the people wailing
I cast one look mocking
Are you crying because
'You' will miss me
and not because
'I' will be missed?
For, the latter I couldn't perceive
when I walked among thee
still breathing,
seen yet unseen,
an invisible ghost
whilst still embodied
Are you crying because
a part of me is still left behind?
a cloak of a memory
awaiting burying or burning
Or are you crying
just because it is convenient,
something you're 'supposed' to be doing
And in the strife to conform,
the joke of death is thus
lost upon thee
You, human, too busy finding
the meaning of life.
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