Count days.
How many, a few?
Perhaps weeks.
Probably less than fifty two.
Until your name in the permanent ink fades.
Exposing how temporary forever is.
Maybe a few minutes.
Maybe a year or two.
Soon your name will fade.
Memories scrubbed in bleach to be thrown away.
/
They’ll say stay.
You’re the favorite drama show.
Suspense.
Value insignificant.
Count days.
Tupac’s how long will they mourn you.
Greatest feeling inside, it won’t matter.
They should have cared for replies.
/
Erased.
Never truly embraced.
Left for dead.
At your funeral they’ll have no idea you lived.
Maybe a week or three.
Months like four or five.
Erasure.
Deletion.
Death before dying alone.
