Meat

The thought constantly rattled in his head, mainly when he was trying to fall asleep or when a conversation inevitably lulled. It’s not that he wanted to end his life, at least that’s what he told himself, but more so that he was extremely curious of what actually happens when we die. Is it the same for everyone? Why wouldn’t it be? Obviously suicide would solve any problems he faced currently. No emotion came to him at all when he thought of how it would effect the people in his life, the very few there were, but having that thought in the first place made him question what the emotion was supposed to feel like, that could be it.  Life now, for him, is a forever ringing phone. Calls from debt collectors, credit adjustment agencies and text messages from friends who had loaned him money. “If I had the money, I would pay everyone back” this is what he told himself and others who mentioned anything financially related.  He already had his suicide note planned in his head. The suicide he was considering out of ‘curiosity.’ “Here is all that I have, sell the meat from my body and divide it amongst yourselves”

This poem is about: 
Me

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