How does it feel knowing your mind is a graveyard?
Everyone you've ever met
who passed on before you
are ghosts of their former selves.
Reliving moments shared or stolen,
an on demand mental streaming
available to binge watch
when the brain is idle and accidentally
gets triggered by a sensory touch,
whether scent or song or sight,
and caressed by the fingertips
of the phantom hands that used to interact
with your existence.

Unfortunately there is no actual
graveyard of graveyards
to pass on the mental bones
constructed of memories
once our graveyard is full
and it is our turn to join
our ancestors.
We get to passively live on
as the familiar ghosts
for one more generation
until even those graveyards
are buried under the weight
of the memories of those
who come after.


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