Obituary

 

I read my obituary in a dream
last night, sleeping on the carpet
to rid myself of his breath.
I must have carved too deep
into my own skin,
I told myself. Oops.
Haven’t had that problem in
half a lifetime. Something must’ve
sparked it back alive.
I wasn’t an angel. I wasn’t
ethereal. I was heavy and dead
and still real. Just empty.
I read my obituary and it said
nothing of me. I was nothing
but a byline, not even a headline.
No one survived me. and I didn’t
survive.

 

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