I am no longer here
or at least
it feels like it.

Sitting here
in the land of the dead
is too overwhelming.

Spiraling
down, down, down
but I'm still intact.
How? Why?

I'm immobile
like the intricate patchwork
below me
dead;
just like the cruel substance
that I'm made of.

All the gravestones are scoffing,
mocking the only emotion
that i am capable of;
GRIEF.

Mourn I must;
that the woman
who gave birth to my father
the only anchor I had
that still remained
is dead.

The gravestones chant,
in a language that I can understand,
"All must die.
Mourn no longer
than necessary.
Forget the dead.
PITY THE LIVING."

They are right.
But I will mourn
my deceased anchor
for a while longer;
otherwise, numbness
will take over my horizons
and there is no going back
from there.

So I bury the dead
but before I leave,
I do not forget
to dig my own grave,
for the time is inevitable
before Grief hands me over
to the unforgiving hands of Numbness
and I join those gravestones.