I am gone.
Vanished if you will.
A ghost wandering its cemetery.
The afterlife is lonely,
Empty.
Boring and dark.
Every now and then I’ll see people walk by,
But when I call out I receive no answer.
It’s not as if I should wonder why,
as I am dead.
Living people don’t see dead people.

Sometimes I see ones who will stare at the graves scattered in this solemn field.
I can’t help but wonder what they see,
Can they see me or can they not?
I can’t ask them.

The living walk through this new place I call my home and weep.
It confuses me.

It rains often in this area.
Even though I have no skin or sense of feeling,
It itches.
I want to be able to feel those cold drops of water on my face again.
It’s strange not to.

My hands are white,
So is my face.
Or I think it is anyway.
I can’t see my reflection anymore.
I look down at what used to be my feet,
Now just a grey and white misty fade from my waist down.

I miss my body.
But then again,
I chose to discard it.