Fear of Reanimation

Who do you think carries out the bodies?

of those people who leave their houses

That have a pair of shoes by the door

Wallet on the nightstand

Books left half unfinished through some sort of apathy

Who do you think takes those bodies away?

When the man left alone

Spreads his sickly sweet smell across the complex

As the bi weekly maid enters his room

She rips the runny skull from his body

As she leaves, with most of the body still left there

She finally flick the lights off

Who do you think comes for the departed?

Is it the police officer asking why,

why didn't they notice, why they didn't vist

for a whole three months, she gave birth to you, you know

I'm asking because I can't rule out the possibility, you know

She can't tell us anything in that kind of state, you know

Her flesh is long past due for shedding, but you knew that

Who do you think sees those final souls off?

Is it their family

the ones who filled a mix of mild shock and

something else

something they can't describe

but it's a twitch

a hunger

end this part of this ceremony quickly, if you would

Who do you think cares for the man left behind?

The curator, who's seen a dozen such objects today

Who's odd career choice can be only explained as a family trade

A man who wishes the families could keep their relationship

their relationship with him

well

keep it formal he supposes

Don't waste so much of his time

he has a job to do after all

as do the rest of the members present

Who do you think the souls thought about?

Was it the cruel, mean spirited eldest

She thought he was the one afraid of himself most though

Was it the oddly empty middle child

With their glazed, hazle glaze, oblivious to the world's woes

The youngest perhaps

She still remembers when she would dress herself in dresses too big

Her husband, always two steps ahead

an ironic blessing

thankful he didnt have to see her like this

Seeing life through the watery reflection

The marbles in her face so deeply sunken she only has her iris left

It's an eerie sight to say the least

She's thankful

Thankful for the kind blessing of anonymonity in her final time

But as she reflects her

Surronded by impassable strangers in her life

She wonders what's she here

What did she exist for

Who do we exist for?