Painting The Ceiling Grey

Floating above my body, nose almost touching my fan, my head feels empty. The name Baretta ringing in my ears, maybe just a ringing in my ears. I roll over to stop my alarm, but its not there. Neither is my bed. I’m floating three or four feet over my corpse. The ceiling painted with my grey matter. I may be matter, but I don’t matter. Things coming to me in pieces song lyrics dreams hopes flooding this new form I possess. I slam back into my body. Movement. Back up to the light again only three relatives… mother… step dad.. little brother. No one’s crying. They didn’t even respect my wishes to be cremated. I pop up a few more places only to realize no one is surprised. My old hangout, my college, They were just waiting for the inevitable that I handed to them on a bloody silver platter.My “friends” hardly notice most just assumed I moved and only found out after they messaged me because they needed something. Everyone who wasn’t there to support me in life now was my best friend. There were no flowers or tears at my funeral. There is no passing for my spirit. Cannot even die right


From: Reddit


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