A strange fear

I’m a disturbed individual, but what else is new.

lately, on my worst days I’ve been fantasizing what would happen to my corpse.  I don’t want to rot in a box to turn into some lifeless fossil, nor do I want to be left as dust in the wind.

All my life, I’ve failed. I don’t deserve a noble burial. No one should cry for me in a church. I don’t deserve nor want a blessing or ritual.

my only request would be to be a useful corpse. Lab geeks and scientists can pick at my organs, nerves, or bone; or my molecules and their electrical charges be used benevolently  in nature to be a part of something bigger and more meaningful.

It is a strange fear that my death would be as vain as my life, is it not?