Selling the ‘Stuff’ that Belongs to the Dead

I am telling you…

Some people pretend to be dead, because they really believe that they are better than you, and me, and the others.
They spread and grow like weeds in the beds of a winter’s garden.
Unforgiven.

They hold on to their ‘stuff’, as if they were golden coins found rolling in the grey sidewalk. Never knowing where they came from.
But, they would never dare asking either.
Entitlement.

When they go missing or dead, without leaving any news or signs of life…
What is dead? It is not their body, like the ones of their beloved ones decomposing some six feet under red soil and marbled stones. Neither it is dead, the loud sentiment that they pretend to hold dear against their hearts.

When they go missing or dead, and shut their front doors and ears to the outside world…
What is really dead? It is not their name, neither their flesh and blood, but their failed attempt to become real humans…

And as they go on writing their beautiful poetic lines, and flourishing tales about their living – to share with the rest of us – some people (they) will keep selling the ‘stuff’ that belongs to the dead, not knowing that they are dead themselves, and they will never return to the world of the living.
Misgivings.