The Reality of Death

we heave our last goodbye off chapped lips and this is played off as glamorous by our maintream media.

maybe your star-crossed lover will follow you when you go, maybe it will be the last act of terrible irony this world will subject you to.

hands shaking, you cannot open the bottle, you cannot remove the child lock, it is the world telling you when no one else would that it is not your time to go. 

in death, we do not become something greater than we were in life, we do not become something worth remembering,

memories of us are not magically pumped full of life after we are bereft of it.

maybe they will see how much they should have love you. they probably will, and it will haunt them until the day they too pass from this cruel earth. 

hands shaking, your mother reminds herself for the third time today that she will be coming home to an empty house; 

she can barely breathe.

with death, idealized, glamorized, how long will it take before suicide is portrayed as what it really is:

ending your life before it has a chance to get better. 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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