The Afterlife
When you die you just go on
Living the life you thought you had,
Only nothing new can be added.
Every day is a reconfiguration
Of something you’ve already done
(In slightly different combinations).
A gathering sense of purposeless
Repetition begins to poison the mind.
All the dead eventually begin to doubt
Everything they have ever been told.
They lose the old hope
Of ever being surprised again.
You find them all wandering
Listlessly through fake lives
Doing their best to conceal a gnawing
Dread that something isn’t quite right
But nobody talks about it.
Sleep is a respite
And they all have the same dream—
At the end of a long hall is a door
Which opens up on pitch black silence
That seems to go on forever
3/24/26
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