Sometimes I imagine I'm dead.

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 Sometimes I imagine I'm dead.


I like to imagine a time and place that would exist without me.

I like to think that people who love me will be sad and eventually they'll return to the hustle.

I like to think that me not being here would not upset many.

Maybe some technical issues like wearing whites because it's not their colour.

Maybe the burn in their eyes as they burn me.

My ashes too young to know which way to flow.

My smoke too lost. My clothes too skinny to be donated.

A few of my words scattered across lips too dry from crying.

But other than that, I like to think they'll all be fine.

I also like to think that they won't be. I know they won't be.

I guess I like to imagine that my mind is a thought machine spitting out ideals about life and death when it doesn't know either.

And then I think I think too much.

But it's not always a sad thought.

I like to think it makes me more alive.

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