You are born of paper and pen.

You live within a world of static,

Your life broadcasted across the web.

.

You pass on into a world where you are not alone.

You look back with full eyes and a heavy heart.

You move on into the next life with a sense of almost hope.

.

You are allowed the opportunity to see those you never got the chance to say goodbye to…

.

.

… but this is the real world.

.
.

Each faith has its flaws,

preaching their afterlife

as the true and mighty one.

.

Heaven or Hell,

Valhalla,

Reincarnation,

an empty void.

.

Each answer sparks another question.

Each question can never be answered.

.

You have every answer at your fingertips,

and I will never be blessed

with the curse of knowledge.

.

I will never know if I will burn or soar.

I will never know if I will rot or reincarnate.

I will never know if I will live among the stars.

I will never know if I will see my family again.

.

By the time I find out, it will be too late.

.

I have been staring the answer in the face

for as long as I have been alive,

reaching out an open hand,

begging someone to pull me in

.
.

and let me drown.

.
.

Now I stand here,

tears streaming down

while you stream on TV.

.

You know where you will go.

As much as I loathe you for moving on

when I am still clutched in Grief's hand,

I am grateful that I am stuck

on the spinning rock in the ether,

oblivious to my inconceivable post-mortem future

and praying that I will see those I've lost

one more time before I succumb

to the finale I have yet to endure.