The Unclaimed Cadaver.

funeralopolistic:

I don’t want to die at an old age, where I’m physically or mentally incapable of doing the things I once excelled at or loved.

But I don’t want to die at a young age, where I have years of opportunities for learning, failure, and success ahead of me, untapped potential that I have yet to reach.

I don’t want to die as the last surviving one, outliving everyone I’ve loved and befriended, lonely in my last days.

But I don’t want to die as the first one, exiting at a young age when everyone still has the vibrancy of life in them, leaving a void too soon.

I don’t want to die suffering, in pain long before I finally succumb to it.

But I don’t want to die in my sleep or in a split second, without a chance to acknowledge that it’s my time to go, without warning, without a chance to say goodbye.

I don’t want to die with an overwhelming sense of relief because life is too much to handle anymore.

But I don’t want to die feeling unaccomplished.

I don’t want to die.

But I don’t want to live forever.　

*

funeralopolistic:

Sometimes, I wish our underlying tensions would be released,
and our frictions eased,
because I know there’s more under the surface
than we care to admit,
but we limit ourselves to one pair of ears,
and leave the others unsatisfied,
keeping secrets on one hand,
and denying that any exist on the other,
and this causes more conflict than you think,
because you know, while we wonder,
and you stand on the outside, while we discuss
because now we know.

I feel like it would be easier,
if we all made it clear,
how we really feel.

But instead, we resort,
to frustrated sighs,
and retorts made out of earshot.
And I’m sick of the lying,
and the comments made behind backs,
because we should really own up,
to our real sentiments.

It’s about time we cut the bullshit and settle things. 

Death takes advantage of time
because it knows turning back is impossible.

We can’t go back, you know.　

He looked different.

He had been standard, average, just there the day before. I asked him what he had changed. He gave me a confused look and shrugged, so I stared at him some more as soon as he turned around. I might have burned holes into his back.

It evaded me. But I felt strange. It was not simply the fact that I didn’t know, but there were new pulls on the settled thoughts of my mind. I liked them the way they were, untouched and sedentary.

No one else saw any changes. I wore them down with my questions and they learned to switch topics quickly, though not subtly. Truthfully, I would have tired of me too.

He insisted he was the same as always. I tried to believe him, but I still knew that something was off. I could only blame him.

I wondered why the face I saw every day was on my mind more than before. I noticed a scent that had not been there previously. Details were burrowing into my memory and feeding the growing question in my brain. He seemed bigger, brighter, more significant.

That’s when I found the fault in myself and discovered the glaring problem I did not want to admit to.

Face

like the taste is in your mouth

but you never bit the lemon.

I was thinking someone stole your voice box
or put a silencing spell on you.
Perhaps you were so kindhearted that
you donated your voice
to save a soul.

Or maybe you’ve got some huge gig coming up
one that I don’t know about
and you’re on extreme vocal rest.

What if you can’t find the words
the ones hidden away
beneath the surface
and they refuse to come out?

I was thinking, well, fuck
it must be some new government policy
aimed at depriving us
of freedom of speech.

(Literally).
You are the first victim.

But in reality
perhaps
you’re just not talking to me.

I find myself waiting

expression like an eel

but less aquatic

and such.

I thought it would be here 

that I would use past tense

instead of the present

(which hasn’t been received)

for description.

I will plaster on a mask

in the hopes that it will stick

and then I’d be free

to feel

and react.

You could have invited me.
Maybe I know the secret to the world’s best chip dip.
Guess you missed out on a perfect complement to your obligatory donation of Tostitos.
I have hitchhiker’s thumbs, did you know that? 
Too bad you didn’t get to see my trick.
I have a couple up my sleeve, but don’t expect me to pull out a rabbit.
Maybe some secrets. Some gossip. I have plenty. Want a bite?
We would have sat on the floor and truth’d our asses off.

Who am I kidding? You don’t know me. Never will. 

Sometimes, I think I like the idea of things more than the actual things themselves. I always start to shy away and feel conflicted once they’re in reach.