there is so much guilt for
the dead,
as though to not pity them,
is to erase them completely.
we fear for
the dead,
as though they are lost
and afraid,
as though without our
dulcet whisperings,
they shall be alone in the dark;
I think that we should smile for
the dead,
after all,
they probably do not care
as they are too busy
decaying,
as we're wilting.
inspired by Christina Rossetti's 'when I am dead, my dearest' and people's ridiculous obsession with informing everyone how much they loved someone who died, when in fact they didn't even know them.