Dead Things

What can I say I dream about dead things Skeletons in my closet Hanging on hangers with names of people I no longer know They whisper remnants of the past Of times that were filled with laughter and joy Now they’ve become sour Everytime they speak I push their voices out of my mind I carry dead flowers with me To remind me of all the love I once had I drag a black trash bag behind me It holds every idea that I threw away Every idea that I deemed bad I envy dead things They exist without being disturbed Like a body that’s decomposing Lost and wanting to be found But not all bodies are found Sometimes I want to rot away Lay down on the forest floor Waiting for animals to pick at my skin Tearing me apart one piece at a time Waiting as the Earth reclaims her Son I was born with a beating heart But I was never truly alive.