In death, we treat everyone the same
Undeserved of the textbook
definition of respect, in life.
You are the ones
we slurred for your political opinions,
judged harshly for your dead bedrooms,
pitied the victims you shamelessly stomped
as you walked your Yellow Brick Road.
Conversations drop an octave
when the obituary is published.
Truth benders erupt from the woodwork
Praising the specters of a life well lived.
Truly a life lived unwell, full stop.
Death does not pass go.
Never let go of the truth.
The scars they left survive.
Let them remind you everyday.