and you can kill the old me.

Are you past pity?
If you have a consciousness now,
if something I can call "you" has something
like "consciousness", I doubt
you remember the last days.
I play them over and over:
I life your wasted body
onto the commode, your arms
looped around my neck, aiming
your bony bottom so that
it will not bruise on a rail.

— Donald Hall.

————————

Dipped black hats.
A solemn silence.
Then comes the
river of crocodile tears.
A reluctant but necessary
farewell to a life
that is not worth
remembering.
 

Deep in the ground.
A silent scream
from beneath
where nobody hears
and nobody sees
that there is no more hope
and no way out
of the grave
dug out with
bare fingers
and pain.

Dig deeper.
Everything is
beyond surface level.
Flashback to when
everything seemed normal.
The question to ask
is if it is okay
to normalise death
like romanticising the end
of life.

Deplete.
Soon, there will be
no more strength
to lose the sense of self.
That is when
it is time
to go.

————

Don't look back.
Don't forget to remember
to leave, go far far away.
And remember to forget
everything in existence
for it matters no more.

Remember to forget
I ever existed.

And you can play this at my funeral.

————————

 

 

 

 

M.

I know it hurts to end a life
I hope we learn to live this time.