I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly

Here lies the body of Jamie McGraph
Who decided to write his own epitaph
Thinking a selfie might make it better
While taking the photo he took a header
Off the edge of a cliff into oblivion
"Came to a sticky end" the fitting idiom

Here lies the body of Nick O Tyme
Who never thought of crossing the line
Lived his life as quiet as could be
Only stimulant consumed was tea
Saved a lady from the path of a train
Regarding which he was true to his name
Results for him were not quite the same

Driving by the beautiful woods,
I see them every night.
Standing tall and peaceful words at last,
its truly a poignant sight.

I think to myself,
all through the night.
what would mine say?
perhaps a few words of righteous might?

When the time comes,
need I let the world know?
or as the time flies,
do I let the world know me?

Flying like a butterfly,
Spreading your wings willfully,
Shining through your smile truthfully,
Speaking a few niceties naturally, and
Building paragraphs of legacy.
Surely, Epitaph will be no new fancy,
and written for you in permanency.
Not in a stone but in the hearts,
you touched in regular frequency.

I think to myself,
all through the night.
Why then,
should it say anything?
I suppose, its neither wrong nor right.

A lonely soul, looking for inspiration;
Balanced on the edge of life.

Words penned from a dark mind,
With occasional flashes of light.

A loser in the end, but brilliantly -
And everyone missing the point.

Step, yes step – nay, dance -
Upon my grave
But do not wallow, whine or whimper
Nor in lamentations rave.
I am gone; I am past;
Into a quiet place at last.
The world is warm and bright
Though I lie beneath the grass.
Pick flowers, if you must
But do not leave them here for me.
Bring them home
To be loved
By friends and family.

I wanted to write about walking away
the two of us, fading away from each others view
I'd decorate it in poetry as if it were anything more than another premature ending
but all I'm left with is shrines in the form of mixtapes
and days spent wondering what it would feel like if I was still in the backseat of your car
instead of sitting upright in the passenger side of his
he says he likes the song I'm playing
but I think he'd hate it if he knew it's just another epitaph for the nights I spent with you