repeating a tired cliche, badly
i don't want you to mourn me. i want you to spit on the body at your feet and feel it underfoot. i want you to chop me up carelessly, feed me to the dogs.
stop touching me with velvet hands. stop cutting your claws short. drag me by my hair and when i cry out kick me across the face to shut me up.
i want you to relish in the fact that i am gone. i want you to cross yourself every time you hear my name, ward me away.
please. stop kissing me so kindly. stop listening to what i say. it won't end good, for either of us, if you keep this softness up.
i don't want you to mourn me. revel in my death.