When I die
I want a pigeon on my gravestone
Why?
Because that's what it is
How I will be remembered
People will walk past me not caring
Unless I'm specific, I won't matter
They will trot past not noticing my name
Maybe I'll steal a quick glance
And maybe children will stare in wonder
Maybe someone will look and genuinely care
Or maybe not  
I am like a pigeon in life and death
People just don't care
I'm just something to inhabit the background
Something that could be great but probably never will be
I spare thoughts for pigeons
But who would care about that creepy boy that sits and talks to birds?