Weeds In The Garden of Life

Ah, but would not death be more welcomed rather
than dwelling in solitude amongst the joyless living?
Would not drowning in the spilled tears upon freshly dug earth
be more inviting than treading in my own weeping of self-pity?

Let’s see now what grows in familial garden, as ‘twas I
who laboriously planted the seeds of love and laughter,
and moistened our flora with hidden cries of frustration.
What will you plant in the aftermath of my demise?

Oh, but to chuckle at the stupidity of your dwelling in the wealth
of my hard labor…hoarding, not sharing with the loved ones I
left behind to escape your strangling grip. Someday soon,
they will escape your grasp, hopefully, not as deeply as myself.

Yet, distanced enough to once again bloom amidst the weeded path,
watching from afar as you wallow selfishly in your riches.
Keep them hidden ‘neath the mattress of your lonely life, left to be
discovered by whomever, once your ugliness and hatred

penetrate the earth as mine piteously did years before.
Mundane riches cannot save your soul, nor can the forged mirth
and haunted joy fictitiously shared with blood thicker than water
relatives, who turn a blind eye towards the monster lurking within.

Our laughter and souls were deemed to be your treasures
but you sold them for the devil’s coins as peers applauded
your accomplishments. Please, do not soil the dirt surrounding me
with your decomposing lies. Rot mounds and headstones away.

I tolerated in life but cannot endure your choking closeness
in the forever after, despite the gold band you insisted my finger
adorn, to forever mock our harmony amongst my disintegrating flesh and bones.
It held so little meaning in life and much less in my untimely departure.

I watch from below while your soul descends into nothingness.
Your self-righteousness and screaming obscenities merely fall
upon deaf ears as granules of dirt, with no tears to moisten,
cascade upon casket of murdered feelings so long ago buried.