You are not the person inside the coffin it's them inside your flesh.
Those flowers are not meant for you it's for their eyes
Those tears are not meant for you it's for the memories you left them.
Those people didn't come for you it is to free them from guilt it's not your birthday it's not an occasion for you it is to ease their pain.
Every thing is not for you, you don't own anything but your soul.
You'll rot for the living and be part of the Earth
Gone and forgotten as we always be...
but legends
don't die
they are written
from the dead trees,
from your dead ancestor,
from the forgotten ones,
legacy lives
as long as you
don't stop writing,
it's the will of the undead,
and you are the chosen one.
Words by Juan Miguel Estocio
Photo by Ajsky Cruz