In death, we treat everyone the same
Undeserved of the textbook
definition of respect,
The ones we slurred for political opinions,
judged harshly for the dead bedrooms,
pitied the victims you 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.
Make the scars they left remind you,
Every day you live your life.
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