In a Past Life, This Totally Happened
All I want is my funeral filled up with family and lovers and dramatic build-up; all I want is to know that they noticed the outfits that worked and the rare, candid moments of perfect exposure and unblemished candor. I think that I would love to quietly stand there, and take in the sum of my too-short-life’s grandeur before the honest evaluations start to pour in as time cleaves the piece of their hearts that I somehow latched onto. They didn’t want to, but I guess there are times when even wishes won’t stop you.
All I want is a funeral pyre of letters from lovers I briefly desired and now cannot touch, for fear that the fire itself will spread on, unthinking, untired. I want to be burned on a beach or a building, or a mountain peak as the sunlight is spilling like ribbons down forth while orange flames divorce my heart and my hands and my abandoned plans from the boy you knew but did not understand.
The awful sad wails of a thousand young girls should be heard on the air the day I leave this world. Tears to help islands, tears for icebergs. Sorry, ship captains, it’s dangerous curves. It’s red eyes and dry lips and lessons unlearned. Get away get away oh my god you’ll be burned.
