Minus Me


If I die, is it an omen?

Will the winds then bear a weight

Less than or equal to my echoes frozen?

Or is it exploitation of the perfect moment?

Tears and cries, and souls who sympathize.

Hug each other, cleanse their eyes with plastic sadness -

Treating all of it like chaos... madness...

Who would cross the line?

Who would step and take a joyful breath

That I no longer burden lives and actions

Since I'm just a fraction of what I had left.

An ash inside your tray

For you to throw away.

Who would fight their mask

And show a smile

Now that all my bitter workings

Are realm-miles away?

No longer to deal with ugliest things that I say.

Who then, would admit this relief

At my very decay?

Who then, would break the silence of my wake

To announce the party across the lake?

I'd never know...

Whoever does, though,

I treasure you so...

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