Oh, to be decrypt

Oh, to die: but to experience the be all and end all of existence, the desire to find myself in equilibrium with men, to lack the differentiation of my mortal body to yours. His rib will be as mine, his skull indistinguishable from my own except by those few who specialize in such a field. I do not anticipate it so much as accept it. Dwelling on fear of the inevitable is wasted apprehension. Save fear for those integral moments when it may save your life with intuition. Otherwise, do not trip over trepidation or they will walk all over you. Dirty shoes. Toe-gum. Foul-smelling smiles. Manipulation. It won't take much for you to crumble under their irrefutable obstinacy.

I'll be the bitch who fails to cry at your funeral while the priest murmurs Christian incantations and the women bow their heads and bodies over your pallid corpse. My cheeks will flush while theirs will wax. It will smell like dehydrated poppy-seeds. I will want to close the casket. Instead I will walk away. They will glower at my back and burn holes into my abdomen with their sensitivity. I will envy you, for in my head I will envision the nails, which will extend and curl, the gnarled hair that will extend and flourish, and then the decay of your body. You will become immaculate. White bone, parched cartilage... no more an individual -- equal with the mass of skeletons enclosed in caskets under the ground. A tombstone will stay, perhaps; but with years it will also wither and disintegrate to become stone from whence it came.

I envy the stone. I envy your bones. I will not cry. You don't deserve it.