An Appeal of Sorts


I often wonder what would happen if I were to die tomorrow.
Would the lives I’ve drifted into weep for me?
Would there be eulogies and platitudes spoken in my honor?
How would you remember me, at the end?
Would it be with fondness,
As someone who loved you, lifted you up,
And offered something no one had before?
Or would you feel caustic, hating me
For my deprivation and abandonment?
You see, these are the thoughts that torment me,
Urging me to tear the flesh off my face
And immolate myself in some morbid asceticism;
But there is no atoning, is there—
No erasing pasts or healing wounds?
I can only hope tomorrow will not be my last
And, more importantly,
That whatever day is, you will be there beside me,
Standing vigil as my soul departs this realm forevermore.


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