If I Die Young

See The World Through My Iris

“Your casket slowly went down; the deeper it went, the more distant it felt. It happened in two different worlds, separated only by a thin veil that waved back and forth with the wind like slipping in and out of consciousness. They cried, of course, your mother most especially. She was drowned by her own tears; they had to call an ambulance. Your father, (you weren’t very close were you?), went to the car the moment you were lowered. Don’t worry, he cried there.”

If I die young, I would cry for the boy who rests six feet under the ground. The earth would not only swallow a mass of lifeless flesh, but beside him would also rest his hopes and dreams and the future. As the flesh decays, so would the core of his existence; the thing that makes him, him; the thing that made him live.

Live. Life.



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