Undead Poetry.

The day after.

The day after I died was Monday.
It was warm with a stiff breeze, the sun was out but shade was over my grave.
Hiding away the secrets of my life.

The day after I died the boy I liked left the flowers I bought for our first date on my grave,
And the book I gave him lay still on the shelf, tears staining the pages and ruining the ink of a note I wrote on the cover.
The day after I died my friends stopped playing my favorite game because they kept hearing my laugh,
Soon after, a game I talked about for weeks had come out and memories of me ranting were brought back.

The day after I died my father looked at the bottle I used to sneak shots from thinking he didn't know, He left it alone hoping it would get lower.
The day after I died, my mom cried hearing one of her favorite songs cause I played it on a road trip,
Soon, the songs we shared became painful as she choked up missing the off-key singing.

The day after I died my cat searched for me everywhere for I was supposed to be home by now,
He rubbed against anything with my scent only wanting to nap.
The day after I died my Familiar greeted me by The Styx,
Not understanding why I was there so soon.

The day after I died the world didn't stop, but someone's did.

The day after I died the stars still shined! But someone missed the glow.

The day after I died the sun still gave warmth, but someone could only feel the cold.

The day after I died life continued on, but someone's had ended.

The day after I died my memories had faded like pictures,
My laugh a haunting sound track for all who knew me.
The day after I died my hopes and dreams burned in hell fire,
My works becoming distant memories of what could've been.

The day after I died, everyone who knew my life stopped for a moment.
The curtain falls one last time, on a Monday.