Mortem.

I will be gorgeous in death.

My lover utters that I am peaceful as I sleep, so maybe, I will be beautiful when my eyes shall never spring open again, and I lay there while my sins are tallied and I float above the sunflower field of the afterlife.

Drain me of my life force and replace it with formaldehyde, hold my eyes closed and watch everyone in my life leave their tears on my face.

But deep down, we both know that nobody would miss me.

I would fall away into the abyss, and fall apart like an ancient plastic bag.

Looking at the concrete floor of my shower, as the water runs through my hair, I ponder my ending and what would happen if I stopped my own heart from pounding.

Turning my head upwards I wonder what they would say at my funeral, how would they react to the news that I had walked off the gilt path and was now playing amongst the particles and matter of the universe?

I would walk into the Horned God's arms happily, if it meant an escape from the thoughts in my head, and the chance at not feeling the way I do in this life.

My mind would be gone from this Earth, and maybe, it would be for the better. I could become something better than a worthless, pathetic human being.

Maybe I should leave the path, and watch my absense get overlooked.

I doubt that if I got anywhere in this life, I would hardly be acknowledged in the next.

I am nothing, and I cannot transform from that nothing.

I wonder if anyone would write me hand-written letters and place them at my grave, detailing their life, what happened today and something they just want to tell me.

I wonder if someone would keep the things I gave them in life, and treaure them like there's no tomorrow.

The irony there for me would be that there wouldn't be a tomorrow for me.

Would they carry on? Would they brush me away?

Of course they would, I would be another suicide statistic that could easily be ignored. I'm one of many that will end it all because of the unceasing noises in their heads.

I don't want to participate in this god-awful rat race anymore, and what's the point of living a lifetime full of this?

Someday, possibly soon, I could walk with the sunflowers of the afterlife and be freed from my strife. Someday, I will feel something other than the security of my blankets wrapped around my legs, and my lovers arms around my chest.

The hollowness will melt away, as I write my final announcement to the world. I really don't think that anybody can help me from feeling like this.

It would be better in the eternal sunflower field, drinking tea with the other souls and following the primordial state of things.

Somehow, I will die, but I do know above all else;

I will be transcendent when my death occurs, through my hand or another's, and I don't care which way it happens.

Published by Zagreus

Mortem.

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