Knowing you’re gone…

The only way to know who’s who is death. And even then you’ll never enjoy the knowing in your head. For it’s after the fact of life that people say they care. Wishing you were still around so their self absorbed heart won’t tare. One hasta expire to be someone on these planes. As the thought of it is as disturbing as fake smiles while hiding their true face. To exist is to be excused until the end comes to claim the pain’s confusion. They’ll want you back just to ignore you as if an illusion. This world is delusional in the way it thinks. Backwards and living in reverse as it’s lost in some fairytale sorta dream. Fall over and let the air in your lungs escape. As your eyes close others will finally take a moment to say your name. To appear from outta nowhere flocking to a body you left behind. And only if you could see how fake everyone is you’d wanna parish from the hype. It’s all an act of considerations that lose meaning in words spoken out loud. Without ever hearing them whisper as you cross over beneath the ground. Recognition and gossip is what will become of the mourning day. As the one you truly are lays motionless to the game. Unable to listen to a relentless display of tongues lying of sympathy and purpose when they could’ve show it all along. At your wake you’ll sleep in a room of disrespect bcuz they know you’re gone. And who will protect your legacy that only you have lived? There’s a reason I haven’t much to give…