don’t come to my funeral

when I die,
don’t come to my funeral.
don’t bury me.
just leave my corpse wherever I finally bid farewell to this world
I never wished to come in in the first place
no choice then
but I choose now.
and I choose to be forgotten.

don’t come to my funeral.
those are for people who want to be remembered.
who, for better or worse, have done at least one thing good with their lives,
have left their mark on one other soul,
have lived.

I
have

never
lived.

don’t come and wish me goodbye,
and say we’ll meet again one day,
for
as much as I loved you
(incapable as I was of deep emotions other than anxiety and depression),
as much as I would like to see you again,
I do not wish for you to ever see me again.
don’t remember me,
don’t give me a grave where you can come back to
when you wish to talk to me.

one of my love languages are words of affirmation
(go figure – always the people-pleaser expecting validation from the outside),
so don’t show me you love me,
not even in death.

forget me,
so you can move on
to someone who deserves all of that.

I have never wanted to live,
and not die, either.
just simply: cease existing.

but
if you insist on showing your love for me
one last time,
help me disappear.
no trace lingering on some things, or some ones.

when I die,
don’t come to my funeral.