Guns and Roses

Somebody screamed,

“Better give her her flowers while she’s still breathing.”

Then—

They held a gun to my head,

Started yelling:

“On your knees!”

Sage was begging,

“Please don’t shoot!”

And all that ran through my head was:

Damn… I should’ve been smoking a couple joints.

Dumb?

I know.

But I only had a second

Before I went under the soil.

I started imagining my funeral—

People buying a casket

Whose softness I’ll never feel,

Fighting over what fit I should wear

When I’ll never feel its hold.

Thinking back on all the times

I was told to be grateful—

Yet I’m sure no one’s ever been

Grateful enough

For a life lived enough

To honour the wishes of the dead.

I just want my existence

To be as forgotten

As the ignorance they paid me while I lived.

Let them cuss,

Let them curse me,

Like I’ve seen ‘em do.

Don’t switch up now.

Don’t sing my praises

With the same breath

That once told me I wasn’t nothing

So as I passed out

On these imaginary blunts,

Waiting for the gun—

I could already see those who came before me.

And down there?

It was a feast.

Laughter.

Peace.

Finally—freedom.

So before the gun goes off—

If it ever does—

Don’t cling to my name

Like a ghost that haunts your joy.

Because I wouldn’t.

Death is bliss.

It’s as sacred as birth.

So why treat it like the enemy?

But yes—

When that gun blasts my head,

That will be a tragedy.

Not because I died.

But because none of you

Ever really saw me

While I was alive.

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