Rotting

A poem about the sacrifices we make for the dead, and their repercussions.

We would sooner live for the dead than die for the living

200 years ago, some guy led a war
300 before that, another, a genocide
Today we still celebrate both

The man that led the war really liked guns
And we shoot each other to this day
Because he thought we should all have one

The man that led the genocide really liked genocide
But we could all really use that day off
So let’s not call it that

My life is run by a long line of zombies
Who don’t even need to get out of the ground to screw us over
The apocalypse began when they nailed some guy to a cross and called him our savior
December 25th is Day of the Walking Dead

When I die
Humanity will remember that I once lived
The world will finally notice that I’m not breathing
But by then it will be normal
And I’ll walk this world too
From the safety of the soil

Gone but not forgotten
But remembrance is rotting
Like the relics of the past
That still sway my fate
From beneath the earth