The human experience
exists within the mind.
Each is completely individual,
completely irreplaceable.

The worst way to die
Is without knowing why you had lived.
The worst way to die
is forgetting everything your life stood for:
misplacing every childhood dream,
getting lost in every nook and cranny
of what might have been and what could be
and what was.

Reality is destroyed when a life is taken,
but the body is still walking,
still breathing
A thriving corpse
hiding forgotten yesterdays
and love that died too soon.

What was the point
of all the art you admired
and the oceans you swam in
and the family stories you shared
if they can’t comfort you,
if they can’t define you
in the end?

The end of the mind
is the end of the story:
the body’s death
is just a painful, dragged-out epilogue
that demands to be read.