With a body bag wrapped up over my shoulders.
I wonder if anyone knows that I died,
Wondering if they even cared, that I stopped breathing, and my temperature is getting colder.
A white, plastic casket,
Is where I am laid to rest.
Covered in embalming acid,
As they up my prettied up my remains, and ghosted what life I had left.
Someone that isn't me,
Is lying on that table.
It just can't be,
That I was totally fine, and then just snapped like a car cable.
It's hard to accept the reality of death, and then remain anonymous,
It's hard to let go.
To know that no matter the amount of records and documents,
They still failed to put a name on me, and I am just another John Doe.