After Life
Sitting at my own grave
Wish I’d been more brave
Couldn’t resist the crave
Brain wouldn’t behave
Feel myself fade away
I’ll be fully gone today
As I watch my body decay
My descent, I can’t delay
Sitting at my own tomb
Master of my very doom
Couldn’t bear the daily gloom
That’s been with me since the womb
To Hell I must descend
Always knew how it’d end
My heart, I couldn’t mend
Death was my only friend
Sitting at my own shrine
Kept telling them, “I’m fine”
Made them ignore the sign
That death was my design
Face to face with my cadaver
All of my relatives gather
And spout meaningless chatter
Did my actions even matter?
Watching my own burial
My body ethereal
My brain was very ill
Now my view is aerial
Stuck between two planes
Leaving behind my remains
No more blood in my veins
Headed soon to the flames
Attending my own funeral
They cry, it’s natural
Our thoughts, irrational
They become collateral
What about my younger self?
Put the gun back on the shelf
Try to preserve our health
But I’m at war with myself
Present at my own wake
They gloss over the mistake
It helps them not break,
They do it for their own sake
They lament the future I had
But I would’ve always been sad
If I didn’t take the chance I had
At myself, I’d be eternally mad
Listening to my own eulogy
They frame it beautifully
And praise me brutally
Eternalized immortally
Jay Weekley (they/them) is a senior at Albion College in Albion, MI, pursuing a dual degree in Environmental Studies and Spanish. Weekley is an emerging writer and“After Life” is their first publication. They are originally from a small suburb in Illinois near the Wisconsin border. When they’re not writing poetry or short stories, Weekley spends time with friends, family, and pets.
The Albion Review 