Telling lies to the wind about the loneliness of death and fear of tomorrow

 

I almost believe them myself

its quite a spectacular theatrical façade
but I am alone in my audience applause

I am deeply disconnected

my selfish character in this production
the arrogant anti-protagonist tells them
“I don’t care about what happens next,”

As I purge the most useless of my possessions
“To make it easier,” he tells them
It sounds pale and banal as if read daily
from a cheap dime rag script

Some other trivialities I will continue to display
as if they were an award for best soundtrack
in a silent movie no one saw

The rest of the moderately useless artifacts
Are packed into totes with epitaphs inscribed
in purple marker on white shipping labels

they are just plastic corpses
sitting on dimly lit basement shelves collecting dust
disconnected memories entombed in a mausoleum