The Awakening and The Funeral

Fragile edges are fraying,
leaving delicate traces
of an existence. 
For others to pick up,
for others to tarnish.

I feel you.

I feel you
plucking bits of me.
A collection of myself
that I will no longer hold.
Though you are too weak
to truly feel.

I console myself with the truth.

I see you slip these
Pieces of soul,
a very being,
through blunt fingers and wrists.
Gaudy and awkward.  

My mind turned,
but my eyes, 
they see.
The metallic movements,
hideous and clumsy,
prick my inner eye.

Though it sheds not a tear
for myself,
but for you.