@Julsijuls 8 April 2022 more from that month

Let the dead be dead. Prose by Julsijuls I play with my food, the peas rolling around and the steak already cold. My friends have reminded me once again, to not stress too much about this short life of ours. I've got food on my plate and water to drink, i have a roof on top of my head and thick blankets to warm in a chilly night. But i can't help but look at my hands, or what remains of it. Chunks of flesh have rotten away, maggots grow on the webs of my muscle fibers, yellowish bone peeking out from my skin. Our lives are indeed short, and mine has ended several years ago. But they still insist that i sit with them, they still go to my grave, fetch me out of my coffin, and force life in a corpse like me. They're evil with good intentions. Good intentions hiding the selfishness beneath white covers. They want things and use me as an excuse, saying i would love this if I were still alive. I do not want grandeur, just let me rest in peace. Let me stay still, let the earth take back what's his.