dying of old age is naive optimism

so wipe your nose and swallow your tears

stand on broken bones, raise bloodied hands

and die young, die screaming, a martyr

they’ll take your name, they’ll take your story,

they’ll write it down, they’ll hold it up,

they’ll turn you into something worthy of glory,

and forget you as someone worthy of love

you were a child, you were a teacher

you were just walking down the road

you were a mother, you were a son

you were just living your own life

now you’re a modern day god

a tragedy, a warning, a catalyst, a boiling point

they’ll immortalize you in hashtags, cardboard signs

they’ll remember your death for decades to come

but they won’t remember your life

(lassulus [adj.]- worn out, having one’s strength exhausted by toil or exertion)