Confined, in a box.

pasjrwoctx/ April 22, 2014/ Short Stories/ 0 comments

 

Confined, in a box. Laying flat, laid out made to appear to be at rest. In death there is no rest, no activity. Darkness everywhere, yet your dead so darkness does not exist. Shattered dreams, hopes that never came through. Opportunities never taken. Passions and dreams fall into the abyss. Distance transfers to time, eroding the memory of your life. No family no friends, no tomb stone at your head. Dismembered and stuffed, dressed for a date. To meet a maker, that created you to live. Yet the living prepared you for death. Stranded, screaming crying out to those that will listen. Hunting the lives of those you don’t know. Not knowing those you loved, are searching for the answer. Wondering why your no longer hear. Death has lead my life to this, hiding. Sleeping with my eyes in the back of my head. Bloated from the cotton, caked up with makeup. You see a body, but never saw me as a person. You cry for your loss, yet never cried for mine. Never celebrating my life. Failing to help me live. You take such care to provide me with eternity. Living your life as though you lost me. Forgetting you never told me what I meant to you. Dead, I lay dead I stay. For life has never been given to me. From my birth I was dead to you. Never did life give me the chance to be….

 

 

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