To My Burial, Don’t Bring Me A Bouquet of Beautiful Roses

Please, to my burial, don’t bring me a bouquet of beautiful roses to my new home, the coffin. My eyes can’t see them.

My nostrils no longer have a scent. My heart no longer beats. My pupils no longer enlarge when I see you. 

Don’t come with your tears and your pretty words. What you couldn’t say in my breathing days, don’t mention them when my breath has ceased to exist.

Don’t bury your tears over my coffin 6 feet under if you walked away. Stay away, and delete all your memories of me.

Don’t join the mourners to remember the good things about me when you tainted my character with your words when I lived.

Please, talk about my ugly side.

“Don’t taint the dead’s memory,” they say.

Did you say it, believed it while I lived?

Then it’s already done.

You killed my humanity and made me a monster.

Don’t say, “Oh, but she’s watching over us now.” You don’t know that. What’s certain is the location of my body 6 feet under.

You killed my humanity and made me the monster. Human beings don’t bury or cry over monsters. You destroy them and then celebrate their fall.

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