here's the deal, i think i've been dead since last summer, but i'd never be able to prove it. it just feels like i left my body on that sickly sweet beach and i haven't been able to breath since.

we once talked about the grim reaper, gore dressed in choir robes, and we decided that he was real. and now i feel his scythe pulling away at me, silver blade piercing goosebump skin,
breath cold as the ice cream on the boardwalk, which is coincidentally where i think i lost my mind.

i'm not blaming this slow death on you, because its not your fault. i fell, and i didn't bother getting up. call me lazy, but i couldn't find the point in staring death in the eyes and trying to live.

i keep on finding grains of sand in my room, and it feels like one day i'll wake up suffocated by them, dead two times and smelling like low tide. they're hiding, is my theory, hiding and waiting to remind me, because memory is a thief of pleasure.

so if i'm dead, can we forgo the funeral, i'd rather haunt life. i want to float through it unseen, i want to be alone for once. because the universe is always screaming, always leering, and i need to be alone. i need to forgo the funeral, and let myself go.

if i am dead, life must not have been worth living.