On my death bed, the saboteurs will come
Painted faces, deceitful words.
With their store brought grief
And a side of false tears
They arrive, clutching their flowers and their pearls.
No one mentioned how they slowly killed me
Choked me till I couldn’t breathe,
And laughed as I struggled
Under the weight of who they wanted me to be
As they kept adding more and more
To the sky I was holding,
Down on my knees.
Now, they’ll cast sad smiles
A dollar, a dime
She was so full of life,
Such a tragedy
Slips out of their mouths
Lies perfected like
Aged wine
And with each hug, they twist the knife deeper,
Victory clear in their parting words
No, you won’t get dignity
No, you won’t get dignity
No, you won’t get dignity
Not even in death.
Author’s Note: Due to latest research, I am thinking of replacing trigger warnings with titles that clearly demonstrate what you are about to read. Do let me know in the comments, if you prefer something else, and if the poem added value to your life. If it did, please share, and if possible, pay what you want.
