The dead is dead. To think other wise only proves your ignorance. She isn't watching you, she isn't directing you, she isn't upset with you fore simply she is dead. Her body, her mind, her flesh decapitates just as fading memories. Her soul is captured, harbored, locked away, until judgement day. Yet one may ask. "Shem you have yet to visit the lady who took you in when your parents couldn't keep you, oh how she must turn in her to grave to know that the little girl she raised has grown so unappreciative of the acts taken to have you here today." I resign on the cusp of reality where imagery doesn't sweep me away. To believe my acts are being counted are foolish and comical. Mums dead and although i have grown to love her with all my power, she is gone. And with her absence has went my courage to love so efficiently again. I do miss her, but the reality of it is that i have to fade her. The last candle has burned out.
-Sorry mum, Don't make me cry anymore, I just want joy.
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