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Funeral Service In Delhi
In moments of loss, families can feel overwhelmed by the numerous tasks and decisions involved in bidding farewell to a loved one. Heaven Gate Funeral Care is here to lighten the burden, providing comprehensive end-to-end funeral services in Delhi. Let us guide and support you through this challenging period.
Hire Dead Body Freezer Box In Delhi
Hearse Van / Moksh Vahini Service In Delhi
A Hearse Van, commonly known as “Moksh Vahini” plays a pivotal role in transporting a deceased individual from their residence to the funeral home. This procedure holds immense significance, and Heaven Gate ensures it is executed with utmost care and respect by providing clean and well-maintained Hearse Vans in Delhi . Read More
Moksh Vahini – Heaven Gate Funeral Care provides diverse options for ‘Moksh Vahini‘ If you opt for a more straightforward choice for your loved one’s farewell, we offer the Maruti ECO, accommodating 2-3 people, and the Bolero/Tavera, with a comfortable capacity of 3-4 people. Additionally, we have the Traveller with a capacity of 6-7 people. Our Moksh Vahini vehicles undergo meticulous maintenance, including thorough cleaning and sanitization after each booking. This ensures that families have access to a clean and sanitized vehicle for their loved one’s final rites.
Dead Body Transportation In Delhi
Transporting the deceased body of a loved one is a challenging task, with various options available in India, including air, road, and railway transportation. Heaven Gate Funeral Care in Jaipur comprehends the sensitivity of this situation. We boast a professional team devoted to managing dead body transportation, guaranteeing a journey marked by compassion and respect.
Body Transportation By Air : The process of transporting a deceased body can be quite extensive and involves a substantial amount of documentation, particularly in the case of air transportation. It commences with the hospital issuing a cause of death certificate. Following this, the local police issue a No Objection Certificate (NOC) to authorize transportation. Once all the essential documents are collected, the subsequent step is embalming. Throughout this process, the body undergoes preparation for transportation, is placed in a coffin with the necessary medications, and securely packaged for cargo travel. Subsequently, the coffin is conveyed to the airport for departure. Read More
Cremation Service In Delhi NCR
In the Hindu tradition, the cremation process holds significant importance as a ritual for decomposing the deceased body. During cremation, the body is placed on a pyre, and specific rituals are performed, typically led by the son of the deceased. Three common options for cremation include wood cremation, Gou-Grasth, CNG, and electric cremation. This process is both lengthy and rich in rituals, involving essential components such as a funeral kit and the presence of a pandit for the final rites. For a comprehensive and respectful Cremation service in Delhi NCR , Heaven Gate Funeral Care offers complete funeral services. Read More
Pandit Ji For Last Rites – Heaven Gate Funeral Care is dedicated to providing experienced and compassionate pandit ji services for your loved one’s last rites. Our pandit ji is available to perform rituals at the deceased person’s home and offer guidance to the family members throughout the entire cremation process. We provide a comprehensive solution for all your purohit needs in Delhi.
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Lincoln Cremation Service
Orchard Funeral Services Ltd. is a leading independent funeral director in the UK who offers a full range of services to meet the needs of all grieving families. We understand that it might be difficult for you to manage all the funeral ceremonies. That's why we have experienced and skilled professionals who take care of everything from start to finish. Connect with us today!
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#funerals lincoln#crematorium services near me#funeral services near me#lincoln cremation service#natural burial grounds near me
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They have to tell them. They have to tell Dustin. They have to tell Robin. They have to tell the kids.
Over the last week, while lying in bed curled into each other, while eating breakfast pressed as close as they could manage, while snuggled up for yet another movie night, they talked about it, discussed how they'd break the news to everyone.
They knew Robin would be easy, accepting, because, well, the whole lesbian platonic soul mate of it all.
They had a hunch Will would feel some sense of relief, belonging, acceptance in himself and they hoped the young Wheeler would experience the same.
They knew it'd be okay, but there was always that itching nerve of anxiety saying, 'What if?' 'What if it's not okay.' 'What if it's really not okay and they'll never see any of their little nuggets again because they're too disgusted to even look them in the eye?'
But they had to tell them. No two ways about it. They had to tell them or someone was going to find out on their own and shit would hit the fan.
But firstly, they have to tell Dustin.
So here they sit in the Harrington house, Steve and Eddie side by side on the couch mere inches apart as Dustin sits on the coffee table in front of them, waiting and impatient.
"So? What was it you two were wanting to tell me?"
The two eldest boys turn to look at each other.
Steve, nerves evident on his face, brow furrowed, cheeks tinting red, bottom lip worried between his teeth, he sighs, shakey, scared and too fucking nervous.
And without even thinking, without even caring that Dustin's literally a foot in front of them, Eddie reaches out. Because he has to, because his boy is scared and it's crushing him to not be holding him right now. His ringed hand moves to Steve's thigh, giving a gentle squeeze before shifting his grip to take Steve's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.
Steve tenses for a moment, eyes flashing to Dustin before he looks to Eddie and visibly relaxes, shifting closer, thigh now pressed to Eddie's, slouching with relief.
Dustin's eyes are wide, darting between the two men and their clasped hands. They can see the nerves creeping into his expression and suddenly this feels so much harder but before they can manage words, Dustin speaks, "Oh my god, is someone dying? Are one of you dying? Steve, do you have butt cancer? Oh my god. Oh my god, you're dying."
The kid shakes his head, hand moving to remove his hat and tug at his curls, " We can't do this shit without you. We'd be a wreck. You're like the best thing that's happened to us. You're like the Party's weird mom. You're getting treatment right? Is it going okay? Is Eddie driving you? Eddie, are you driving him? Are you taking care of him? Please say you're taking care of him."
The two men look between each, their clasped hands, Dustin and his expression that's nearing tears. They're speechless. They try to speak only to be interrupted. "I'm moving in, I'll help, I'll cook, I'll clean. Well, Eddie can cook and clean and I'll keep you company. Be the comedic relief. We can plan your funeral together. Do you want to be cremated? Or a rotting corpse in the ground for all the rodents to eat? Do you-"
"Dustin," Eddie carefully speaks
"Do you want me to-"
"Dustin," Steve repeats his boyfriend's words
"Shut up I'm talki-"
"We're dating!" Steve and Eddie both say with a shout, lifting their joined hands shaking them in Dustin's face
The kid cocks his head to the side, brow raised in question, "So Steve's not dying?"
"No"
"And you're together?"
"Yes?" Steve says like he's not entirely sure. Which is dumb. Because he is. But he's still nervous of how Dustin is going to handle this type of news. It's not 'Butt Cancer' (Jesus Christ this kid,) nothing even close, but it's still news. Unexpected and scary to reveal.
"Are you asking me?"
"Would it be okay if we were?" Eddie, somehow the calm voice of reason in this situation
Dustin almost seems offended at the moment, a weird look of shock appearing on his face only just now, "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Um, because that's gay?" Steve says, watching Dustin grimace at the remark
"And?"
"You're fine with that?"
"Well, Steve, does Eddie treat you well?"
Steve nods, kinda baffled by the whiplash of this whole conversation
"And Eddie, does Steve treat you well?"
"Yeah,"
"Well then, it's fine." Dustin slaps his hands to his thighs standing up from his position on the coffee table, a teasing smirk on his face, "Congratulations I guess. Just don't get Steve pregnant."
Eddie cackles while Steve sputters "That can't ev-"
Totally ignoring the pair still seated on the couch, Dustin is already making his way to the front door with Steve's keys in hand, "Now, how about the arcade?"
#steddie fic#steddie fanfiction#steddie fandom#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#eddie x steve#steddie headcanon#steddie#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stevexeddie
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Swap Our Places
Pairing : Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader
Summary : July 4, 1985 was the day everyone's world changed, the mall burned down, Jim Hopper was dead and so was someone's soulmate.
Warnings : Swearing, suicidal ideation, death
Word count : 907
A/N : Grab the tissues, this one hurts.
Your boyfriend didn't look scared as he looked the monster in the eye, challenging it. The monster screeched and El put her arms up to defend her face and fight or flight kicked in for you as you pushed your boyfriend out of the way, you back receiving the blow from the slimy tentacle from the monster's mouth. Two more blows came, one to each side of your body.
Billy shook his head, having tripped and knocked it on the tile floor of the mall after you pushed him. He heard your pain-filled scream and as his vision cleared up, there you were, on your knees, facing him as your blood dripped from your body. Max screamed loudly as you went limp at the last blow, straight to the middle of your back, near your heart.
You fell over as the Mindflayer crashed to the ground and Billy rushed over to you, pulling you into his lap, his hands on your back as he held you tightly, crying in your shoulder. "Why would you do that? It was supposed to be me." You couldn't grasp him tight like you wanted to, all you could do was put your fingers in the knots of his hair, needing to be with him and as close as you could.
You felt the way his pulse raced as he held you tighter, holding the back of your head, rocking the two of you. You shut your eyes, taking everything in as you felt your heart begin to slow. "Come on, baby, let's go to the hospital." You shook your head as best as you could, feeling drowsy. "Not gonna make it," you slurred, coughing on his shoulder.
Any other time, Billy would have winced but not this time, not his last time with you. Your blood stained his skin and the silver ring that he wore. He pressed his lips to your forehead, shutting his eyes tightly as a few tears fell. "I love you," he said, voice trembling. "I love you too," you said, your voice strained and blocked by your own blood as you coughed it up on him.
He couldn't do anything but hold you tightly, continuously kissing your skin where he could reach it until your fingers fell from his hair, your body going completely limp in his arms. He shook your lifeless body, letting out a pain-filled cry. He didn't know what to do but he never let you go as he rocked, holding the back of your head tightly as he heard your last breath.
Fire and rescue came and had to pry your body from him and even then, he was putting up a fight. He stumbled out of the mall, his leg was fucked but that didn't matter, it didn't hurt as bad as his heart did, that was completely broken, the pieces were with you now. He looked down, his hands stained with your blood, his shirt and pants were the same. He didn't have a car anymore, that was still in flames.
Joyce Byers walked to Max as she cried, her body shaking harshly and Joyce engulfed her in a hug, rubbing her back. Billy fell to his knees as he sobbed, his body shaking as he gripped the roots of his hair, he needed to feel anything but the pain you had left him with.
December 8, 1985
Billy stood in front of your headstone, a hoodie covering him as he looked at the cement. He noted the wilted flowers and picked them up as they crumbled in his hand. It was supposed to be him, he wanted it to be him. Billy had nothing to live for, he was getting beaten, he hated his life, he only had you, you were the reason why he was still alive but now you're gone and he feels like he can't breathe, he has no purpose here anymore.
Now, as he sat on the cold, wet grass in front of your headstone, he finally understood why you did it. He needed to leave Hawkins, get away from his family but he couldn't leave you here. He was thankful you weren't actually in your grave, thankful your parents had you cremated. He wasn't sure why there was a headstone but he never asked because truthfully, he felt a lot better talking to a headstone than to a sack of ashes but he wanted to hear you talk back to him, wanted to hear your laugh one more time.
He traced the indents of your name with his finger, seeing the dust that came off with it. He got back into his car as the wind howled and he began adjusting his radio, putting his visor down as a clipped Polaroid of you stared at him, your smile bright, you had been laughing at something he said when he had taken the picture of you.
"I'd make a deal with God and I'd get him to swap our places."
Max was a fan of the song. she played it anytime she could from her Walkman and in this moment, he realized why she was a fan because Billy would swap places with you in a heartbeat if he could because he'd do anything for the one he loved.
#billy hargrove fanfiction#stranger things billy#william hargrove#billy hargrove x f!reader#billy hargrove x female reader#stranger things fanfiction#billy stranger things#billy hargove imagine#billy hargrove x you#billy hargrove
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April 2--
Her funeral was today.
It's been a week since she got home. Another week, and she might have reached the last stage. Another few days, maybe. I'm not privileged enough to know that information, nor do I wish to be.
I wrote to Princess Celestia the second I heard about anything happening. The first day back, it looked like she had been galloping through poison oak! Watery blisters and all. The next day, the whites of her eyes had gone yellow.
Admittedly, I got paranoid. Rash and jaundice? Could be a number of things. But after so many years with Flurryheart, knowing what happened to Cadence, I don't want to risk that. So, of course I wrote Celestia.
It took until today to get any response. Six days. In that time, I watched one of my best friends forget who they were. In Celestia's package to me was a file. It was mostly redacted, but there's photos of another pony, all grainy, in a bare room. Their cutie mark has been marked over. It's just a series of photos, all taken at various stages...
I won't lie, I bullied the pony at the morgue to let me in to see her body. Best case scenario, I tell my friend goodbye. Worst case, and I maybe prevent others from suffering. It was worth a few mean words, right?
He left me alone, thankfully. I don't think she'd be too happy with the fact that I drew my observations of the body. I took a sample of her horn's overgrowth, right near the scalp. It's almost waxy. Flaky, kind of crumbling. The idea of my friend remaining as a sample on my shelf haunts me. Soon, I'll burn it.
I took a chance and tried to convince Lyra's family to cremate the body, made up some excuse about pathogens from the poison oak. That allergens in the ground will spread, used a bunch of fancy words that Celestia taught me. Anything to get them to burn her.
But they didn't.
I'm afraid that I'll dream of her. Of them. Underground, spreading roots. Festering and budding.
I'm afraid.
#mlp#mlp infection au#mlp infected au#my little pony#body horror#lyra#my little pony infection au#april 2nd#root rot
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Work Song
It’s cold today. Winter is making its way through Vesuvia, cloaking everything in sheets of ice and the first round of snow. The black sands of The Lazaret stick to my shoes with a mixture of slush, but it doesn’t bother me.
I no longer go to the coliseum. Ever since I broke out with Inanna I’ve stayed in the forest as much as I can if I can count on it. However, the things needed to survive cost money, and I cannot rely on Asra for everything. So for the moment I work on the Lazaret, the quarantine island where those afflicted with the plague are sent to spend their final days. I dig the graves here, whether they be for multiple bodies or just one.
Setting my shovel down for a moment, I look at how far I have made it with preparing the grave in front of me.
It’s one of the mass ones, shallow enough that the bodies, wrapped in cloth or burnt to ash will be piled on top of each other in a careless fashion. I’ve worked here long enough to know that it’s not that the other people working here don’t care, it’s just that it’s easier on the body and mind this way.
Another breath taken and I am back to digging the sand, ignoring the ache in my shoulders as I push the shovel into the ground again and again. The building where they cremate the bodies roars in the distance, and the sound of other shovels hitting the sand accompanies it in a disgusting tune.
It’s all too familiar.
Someone starts bringing out bodies from one of the quarantine buildings in a wheelbarrow, dumping them next to the pit before going back inside to retrieve more. Once I’ve finished digging out the last layer I start to arrange the bodies in their final resting place, always making sure to be careful and give them one more act of gentleness in the last light.
I’m used to bodies having some post-death reactions, such as sighs or groans, but the one I pick up now manages to flail. It shocks me enough that I nearly drop them.
They are small, probably a child if I had to guess. I pull back the burial cloth from their face, kneeling into the sands and bracing myself for what I might see.
I am met with a classic plague victim, but instead of being dead this one is still alive. The whites of their eyes are red, and the blood vessels on their face and neck are purple and crimson as well. Their face is gaunt, showing no sign of the baby fat that was probably there just the other week. They feel like a bag of bones in my arms, much like the other dead, but despite that their heart still beats softly in their chest.
Even with the near blindness they have, their eyes shine with recognition, and fear as they gasp for air. Their chest rattles audibly with the movement, and I try to set them back into the sands to continue with the others.
“Wait!” At first I don’t hear it, a whisper in the wind that could easily be ignored, but for some reason I do as I am asked. “Please… don’t want to be alone…” Logically, it’s a bad idea. Even with the cloth mask I wear by the doctors recommendations on the island the plague is still incredibly contagious, taking the life of anyone no matter their circumstances. However, I do as I am asked and continue to hold them, forcing myself to relax and not quite meeting their gaze.
“You’re… you’re The Scourge, right?” The child manages to say between coughs and wheezes, the words like knives to me. I nod in response. “What are you doing here? You’re not sick.” I take a few moments to think of an answer.
“I needed a job.” They try to nod, only to go into a violent coughing fit. I sit them up forward, trying to ease their pain just a little. Once that stops they still breathe heavily, as if they had been drowning.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they were, judging from what the doctors say.
I half expect them to stay quiet, to ease into a permanent sleep and for the thrum of their pulse to stop fluttering. Death seems to be watching, closer than it normally feels and yet far away at the same time, not yet ready to collect them.
Of course I’m wrong again.
“You’re being kind to me… why did you fight then?” Kids are always straight to the point, although I can’t fault them for their words. Adults are worse, especially since you know that they know what their words mean.
“To protect someone.” There’s no point in lying, or trying to avoid their questions. They seem to accept that, leaning into my arm as though it was a pillow.
It’s started to snow again, little white flakes falling through the sky and melting on the kids' cheeks. “I really wanted to see the first snow.”
“You did.”
“From my window, at home.” Another coughing fit interrupts them, their cheeks, which were already red, turning an even brighter shade. “I don’t feel it though.” That’s no surprise to me. The clothes that they had been wearing in the quarantine building are thin, and the burial cloth isn’t much better. Their skin looks nearly gray in the cold light, the only color coming from the angry streaks of red on their face and neck.
I watch as people walk across the sands, wrapped in thick coats to protect from the disease and the elements. A luxury the dead and dying aren’t afforded.
It doesn’t matter if they soon won’t feel anything. I take off my cloak, the fur dull but still warm, and adjust it to wrap around their small frame. My hair whips in the cold wind behind me, making me wince as it stings against my back.
The kid nearly melts into the material, closing their eyes and rubbing their cheek against the dark fur. I can no longer see their chest moving, or the thrum of their pulse beneath their throat as they sigh into the material, but they seem content. That’s all that matters.
“What’s your real name?” Once again, there is no point in avoiding the question, but the fear-like feeling that rises in my chest nearly prevents my answer.
“Muriel… My name is Muriel.”
“Hm… that’s a nice name.” I’ve never thought so before, only being told the same thing by one other person. “I’m going to die soon… aren’t I?” A simple nod is all I give them once again, the tight feeling in my chest slowly growing. “Will you stay with me?” It’s a quiet request, but said with all the bravery they can muster. Once again, I nod.
The sun in the gray sky looks nearly white, just like the frost that covers the ground and falls around us. The chill makes my skin prickle with goosebumps, a feeling all too familiar to me yet again, but I don’t even think of taking my cloak back. The crematorium continues to roar behind us, and its warmth is of no comfort in the cold. Their breathing continues to slow, minute after minute, although it feels like hours. The ragged sound in their chest seems louder than the chains I wear on my neck, and the coughs from them and others boom in my ears.
They take their last breath when the sun finally sets, mere minutes after I had picked them up in the first place. I don’t take my cloak back, instead choosing to wrap the burial cloth around their face once again and tuck them into the fur as though they were simply going to bed once again. My entire body aches from the cold as I lay the other bodies in the grave first, arranging them gently as I’ve always done.
The last body is wrapped in furs, the white cloth covering their small face barely peeking through before I pick up the shovel again and fill the grave with sand.
The snow continues to fall as I finish what last tasks I am given for the night, falling harder and harder as the hours pass. By the time everyone is taking the last boat home it’s heavy enough that all have donned their hats and cloaks, their forms like solid shadow in the flurry.
I stay on the back of the boat like always, my eyes downcast to the floor of the craft in the same manner as everyone else.
Walking home feels like a chore, even as the streets empty for the frigid night ahead I feel the gaze of those who knew what I have done follow me through the cobblestone streets. They only stop when the stone begins to turn to dirt and roots.
Inanna meets me halfway home, walking silently next to me and nudging her cold nose against my hand. The hut is cold when I open the door, and I make sure to kick any excess snow off before going further inside. It takes time for the house to warm once I start the fire, and I busy myself with other things in the meantime.
“Where is your cloak?” I feel her words more than hear them, Inanna’s voice ringing through my head as I stir the leftover dinner from yesterday in the pot.
“Someone else needed it.”
#the arcana#arcana game#muriel arcana#muriel of the kokhuri#muriel the hermit#the arcana muriel#the arcana headcanons#artists on tumblr#fanfic#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#the arcana fanfic#the arcana hc#muriel headcanons#hurt/comfort#hurt no comfort
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Head canon: When Azula dies, the Fire Nation mourns her longer and more intensely than it does Zuko.
Don't get me wrong. Zuko's funeral is an appropriately somber and stately affair. (Ozai, for instance, probably winds up in a pauper's grave somewhere with barely enough fanfare to confirm he died.)
There are sniffles at Zuko's funeral. Those close to him probably bawl their eyes out as much as their own dispositions allow. A few speeches praising his best deeds as Fire Lord. They most certainly don't talk about the Red Lotus.
There's a mourning period, as is custom. People are sad, but life goes on.
But Azula's funeral? Ohhhhhh, boy.
The entire Caldera is packed with people dressed in funerary white garments. People come from every province to pay their last respects to their princess, and they damn near start a riot when security won't let them in because there's no more room.
The people inside the Caldera who actually get a view of the royal procession all bow at the casket (Do they have caskets in the Fire Nation?) as it passes by. A whole wave of people gets on their knees and touch their foreheads to the ground. As Azula is cremated, onlookers gasp in awe as the fire turns blue. This is not a trick. It's a thing that happens that has no natural explanation.
The Fire Nation remains in deep mourning for weeks after the customary number of days. Many impromptu altars are made, and they incorporate a picture of Azula placed in a prominent position. There are so many of them that some streets get completely blocked off.
Strange folklore starts building up around her. A popular one says that when the Fire Nation needs her, Princess Azula will return, rising like a phoenix from blue flames.
#azula#atla headcanons#funerals#death cw#went to a funeral yesterday so death is on my mind#azula headcanons#azula's death
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Pagan Funerals: Burials, Customs, and Pagan Funeral Songs
posted by : kitty fields
Death can be scary for anyone and everyone. As a pagan witch, I have no shortage of thoughts about it. And if you’re here, you likely do too. Or perhaps you’ve lost a loved one recently who identified as pagan or witch. I’m here to tell you, witch and pagan funerals are a real thing. We don’t have to be buried and commemorated by a Christian pastor or priest, if we don’t want to. And we don’t have to have a Christian burial either. If you want to know how to plan a pagan funeral and what to expect, we will detail it for you here including pagan death beliefs, traditions, pagan funeral songs and witch burial rites.
Pagan Death Customs
It truly depends on what your loved one (or you) want to happen upon death, but there are several pagan death customs to consider. Just as a baby is cleansed upon birth (via bathing or baptism, etc.), many pagans ask to be cleansed/bathed upon death. Why? Because death is another transition and just another part of the life/death/rebirth cycle. When you’re clean, you’re prepared to meet the afterlife fresh and anew! This isn’t necessarily a strictly pagan custom, but something that’s been done for thousands of years across cultures. In addition, here are some other pagan death customs to consider:
Massaging/anointing the deceased’s feet with oils for the “long journey” ahead; some oils used traditionally include: angelica, blackberry, chrysanthemum, tobacco, etc.
placing a circle of candles around the body and keeping watch until the funerary rites
call on the individual’s gods and/or ancestors to protect and guide them to the afterlife
a picture or statue of the individual’s gods/ancestors/guides can be placed with the deceased to ease in transition (for me, I’d ask for my statues/figures of Odin and Freya, specifically)
prayers should be said to aid the deceased in their travel to the afterlife
pipes and tobacco can be smoked near the deceased – the smoke wards off evil spirits
bouquets of hydrangeas around the deceased to ward off negativity and cleanse the air
burning frankincense and myrrh upon death
upon death, if at home, cover the mirrors and open a few windows to allow the deceased’s soul the ability to leave this earthly plane
stop the clock upon death
cover the body in white linen, white and black flowers
hold an Irish wake: click here to learn more
have dinner, feast, drink and celebrate their life (this was SO important back in the day, and actually aids in the soul’s transition to the afterlife. You’re not celebrating for yourself, you’re celebrating for the person who just died)
burying the pagan/witch in good walking shoes for the journey ahead (for the love of the gods don’t bury me in heels, people!)
Types of Pagan Burials and Cremations
Pagans and witches don’t have a single holy book that they use to guide their lives or their transitions like death. It all depends on what the individual pagan believes; however, many pagan and witch burials lean towards the eco-friendly. This means a natural burial: no concrete is poured into the ground, no man-made caskets, etc. There are natural cemeteries throughout the United States who accommodate eco-friendly witch burials. You can do a simple google search to locate one in your area.
Other Witch Burial Options
In addition to an eco-friendly witch burial, some pagans may choose to be cremated and then have their ashes spread somewhere in nature. While cremation is purportedly a “Christian” death custom, our ancient pagan ancestors from certain countries burned their dead. Unfortunately, burning a person on a pyre is illegal in most places and frowned upon these days, so the pyre is probably not an option where you live. Can you believe there is also a company who is composting human remains, as well? Do some google research if you’re curious. For me, being a witch who’s lived past lives during the Burning Times, please don’t burn me. But again, this is all up to you or your loved one.
Viking Funerals in Michigan
Some pagans and witches may wish to be cremated and ashes spread in a sacred natural place.
Ideas for a Pagan Funeral Service
The best place to have a pagan funeral service is where? In nature! If the person loved the ocean, hold the service at the beach. If the person loved the mountains, hold the service on a mountaintop. Recite passages from pagan poetry, mythology, prayers to gods, etc. There are some wonderful passages that would be appropriate for a pagan funeral in the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the Prose Edda, the Mabinogion, and the Carmina Gadelica, to name a few. Following the pagan funeral service, have a party to celebrate the person’s life together – eat, drink, and socialize. Our ancestors made funerals into parties! Read more pagan passages on death further down.
More Pagan Funeral Traditions:
To protect the deceased upon burial: drive/carry the casket around the cemetery 3 times in a sunwise direction
Bury the deceased with his or her amulets/talismans: magical jewelry like crystals or runes they wore during life or any other sacred tokens
During the funeral ceremony – ask psychopomps to guide the deceased to the afterlife. Psychopomps include: the deceasesd’s spirit guides, ancestors and gods, in addition – Osiris, Iris, dogs, horses, snakes, birds, Thoth, Hecate, Berchta and Freya (particularly for women and children), Madame Death, etc.
Garlands of flowers and resins can be made into necklaces to protect and bless the deceased’s loved ones – hang around their necks during the funeral rites
Flowers and food offerings should be left at the gravesite to aid the deceased in his/her journey to the afterlife
Witch and Pagan Funeral Officiants
Pagan Death Beliefs
So instead of the Christian version of talking about the deceased as if they’re going to Heaven, pagan death beliefs nearly always revolve around reincarnation and/or traveling to a place outside of this world. For some pagans and Wiccans, this other place that we go upon death is called Summerland. In Norse tradition, they may say they believe we go to Valhalla, Folkvangr, or Helheim upon death. For the Celtic tradition, the Celtic Otherworld, Faery Realm or Tir Na Nog. Etc. At the very least, mentioning that your pagan loved one believes we come from the earth and return to the earth is perfect. Read more about pagan death beliefs and the pagan afterlife here. In addition, share a few pagan passages or quotes on death and the afterlife:
Pagan Quotes on Death and The Afterlife
These are some of my favourite passages about death, reincarnation, etc. that I would love someone to share upon my burial. You can share some of these passages or quotes during the memorial or have the officiant add it to his/her speech:
“When I die, plant flowers over my grave, so when the seeds bloom, you can pick me and hold me once more.” ~ Anonymous
“I have been in many shapes:
I have been in a narrow blade of a sword;
I have been a drop in the air:
I have been a shining star;
I have been a word in a book;
I have been an eagle;
I have been on a boat on the sea;
I have been a string on a harp;
I have been enchanted for a year in the foam of water.
There is nothing in which I have not been.” ~ Taliesin (Welsh Bard)
“Beauty before me, with it I wander.
Beauty behind me, with it I wander.
Beauty below me, with it I wander.
Beauty above me, with it I wander.” ~ Navajo Night Chant
“Cattle die, Kinsmen die, All men are mortal.
Words of praise, Will never perish
Nor a noble name.” ~ Havamal
“After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.” ~ Dumbledore, Harry Potter
“But know this: the ones that love us never truly leave us.” ~ Dumbledore, Harry Potter
Pagan Funeral Songs
There’s plenty of music (both pagan and modern) that would relate well and could be considered pagan funeral songs. Here are a few options:
Wardruna: Helvegen
Stevie Nicks: Landslide
Delta Rae: Dance in the Graveyards
Sarah McLachlan: Angel
Alison Kraus: I’ll Fly Away
Florence and the Machine: Never Let Me Go
The Band Perry: If I Die Young
Stevie Nicks: Crystal
Loreena McKennitt: The Dark Night of the Soul
Wardruna: Odal
Celtic Woman: Danny Boy
Florence and the Machine: Jenny Oldstones
Marianne Faithfull: Witches’ Song
Sarah Jarosz: Build Me Up From Bones
Julie Byrne: Sleepwalker
MILCK: Call of the Wild
Delta Rae: Morning Comes
Florence + The Machine: Sky Full of Song
Florence + The Machine: Grace
Florence + The Machine: St Jude
Enya: May It Be
Kalandra: Helvegen
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CREMATION GROUND
As a kid, I only saw, knew, and heard about cemeteries and cremation grounds in movies and on TV. It’s not something that your parents deliberately discuss with you when you’re a kid. It’s not something MY parents would discuss with me. For the most part of my life (almost 13 or 14 years), I was not even aware of the cremation ground near my home. It’s only a few hundred metres away. There are a lot of things that have surrounded me my entire life which I was never aware about. Anyway, even after learning about the existence of this cremation ground, I did not think much about it. I don’t remember it ever crossing my mind. It was only when I was about to turn sixteen when this turned around. This was when I lost someone close to me for the first time in my life. Before that I never really struggled with death. It was a natural concept of life that was very realistically acceptable to me.
The cremation ground was on one of the routes I took coming back from school. Generally i would just pass by without acknowledging its existence. However, I remember one day there was a dead body tied to a wooden ladder, covered with white cloth and some marigolds on top of it. Few men, some in white clothes and some in old washed up shirts, were standing around. I guess they were waiting for something. And that was the first time that place caught my attention like never before. Maybe it was because around that time I started paying more attention to dead bodies. I thought about it all day. After that, every time I rode alone by that place it was hard not to pay any attention.
It’s weird and striking that a place near my home, a place I was not even aware about the first 15 years of my life, and a place that crossed my mind only a few times in 18 years is so visible now, that it’s hard to not be aware of it. I wish I was speaking metaphorically. And this time i don’t even have to ride past it. Just like college and work, I get to be aware of it from my home.
I’ve lived in this city my whole life. I’ve seen this place change. I’ve seen roads being destroyed and constructed over and over again. I’ve seen trees being taken down. I’ve seen homes slowly turn into apartment buildings. I’ve seen the whole landscape change. I remember seeing hundreds of houses from my roof and now I can’t see past one house. When I was very little, maybe 5 or 6, a carnival was organised a few hundred metres from my home. On the same road as the cremation ground actually. I live in a colony and even though it was more than a decade ago, I could not see the carnival from my roof. But what I could see was its light in the sky at night. And sometimes we could even hear the music. For a week or so the sky was so pretty because of the lights of the carnival. Even on days we didn’t visit, the carnival made me happy.
This is one of the oldest memories I have of living on this earth. I didn’t think about it this much but for the past few months I can’t stop thinking about it. 2 months ago, when we all knew someone who urgently needed hospitalisation but could not get one. When we stopped watching news because of our mental health. When someone we knew was dying every other day. This is when this beautiful childhood memory became the realisation of how life has changed for all of us. The road from where the lights were lighting up the sky became the road painting a picture in the sky of all the deaths and the grief they left. Some, not even acknowledged. Just like I watched the lights in the sky all those years ago as a 5 or 6 year old, this time I was watching the smoke coming out of the cremation ground non stop in the sky as a 18 year old.
(I wrote this when the covid cases peaked)
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Saying a heartfelt farewell to our cherished ones with the compassionate touch of Heaven Gate Funeral Care. Honoring the journey beyond with love, grace, and eternal memories. Contact us for more details.
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Can you imagine being Ian James Quartly right now?
After finally getting your show off the ground, stuffing it with all the stuff you love including stuff from the very network you work with just to have the network pull the rug from underneath you at every turn.
Cutting down production on big special episodes like the Crossover Nexus that originally was meant to be a half hour cut down to 10 minutes.
Next to no advertising, shadow dropping episodes on their app no one really uses making the creator having to advertise on his own twitter
Being canceled and having to warp up the show so people still feel satisfied, and having the finale being labeled as a special and be packaged with a Teen Titans Go Rerun and then immediately pulled from syndication.
AND THEN after years of being over and done with to add insult to injury they WRITE YOUR SHOW OFF FOR TAXES and pull it from the biggest streaming platform it's available on along with any other trace of it on their social media
KO was legit the last all ages propertey that wasn't attached to some already exiting big franchise that I loved and I think I've been more cynical ever since I heard the news it getting canceled
Dude crossed over with Sonic The FUCKING Hedgehog before his movie brought him back into mass public relevance, shit was 100% made for me. So to have my favorite show on the my favorite network get shot in the knees, die and get buried just to have the network comeback to the grave years later, dig it up, and fucking cremate it for money alongside all the other bullshit the big wigs in charge have pulled it's not hard to think that industry is rigged against actual good content when they prefer the ones that they can pump out endlessly.
It's why I think Primal is so important, a show that could not have been made by a corporate board. A show with next to no dialogue, intense violence and long shots of just atmosphere and silence. It's why I'm glad Genndy was given the position to pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants. It's what I think every big creator deserves. Like if Rebecca Sugar wants to make another show (my personal feeling of Steven Universe aside) she should be allow to do whatever the hell she wants.
In the end the only "good" thing that came from this is reaffirming the era of Piracy
The level of disrespect that hit OK KO to me is honestly damn near unprecedented. Like, that was some DC Nation level disrespect. The only possibly higher level of disrespect would be Justice League Action disrespect.
That man Ian gave us a show that was built from love, care and THICC and he kept getting slapped in the face at every turn. OK KO Let's Be Heroes was the show for you if you basically had a childhood. It was the show that we the people, of many cultures, would want to do ourselves. It was a toy box with all your favorite action figures. Ian deserves to be rolling in zillion dollar bills for OK KO and instead they virtually gave him $20 and threw him a ditch.
No matter what they do they can't fucking erase this away from me.
Creators should be allowed to have control over their own vision if it's genuinely not hurting anybody. We've been getting nothing but quality from Primal and nobody stuck their hands in that. Even going as far as to withhold a real preview because Genndy wanted the episode to be experienced firsthand. People shouldn't have to keep fighting so hard for their visions to not only be realized but fucking protected from being erased at the whim of a company that can't be bothered to think outside themselves for one millisecond.
People can't tell me to not pirate shit all the while making my access to the content impossible. At that point you want people to steal it from you. And guess what? The streets are gonna do what the streets need to do just like they got their hands on the animatic for Genndy's unreleased Popeye film. Like, don't try and play dirty with the community because we stay grimy. They fucking put us there.
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- Soap was detonating the bomb under the ground. Helping Price to detonate the other one on the side ….
Makarov and his man came and started firing , Soap got shot and Took cover …..Since he was covering himself as one of the Konni Group members for intel receive.. it was easy for him…
He remembered the lines which Makarov said during the catch in Verdansk..
“ I’ll be seeing you again , MacTavish “
*Soap took a self oath to give his words a great backfire*
“ Ah will git yer fur sure Vladimir “ *soap selftalking *
* noticed a blue eyed konni member , who was quite similar to his figure *
* a plan popped up in him instantly *
*Keeping the gun straight at the members head *
“One wrong move and a bullet in yer head “ *orders him to detonate the bomb *
- The soldier was about to touch the control and Makarov shot him …
….
“ SOAP !! “ *Price screaming while preventing Makarov to shoot *
“ JHONNY !!! “ *Ghost screaming *
….
- The soldier fell on the floor , Soap took his chance and left outside to a safe place …
He felt to go to Laswell’s place for intels , plans and to keep his existence secret ..but it would be risky so he didn’t even contacted from other sources..…
she already got the news .. fake news of Soap is KIA .. she immediately told Lavender about it …she was in another mission….
*Laswell calling Lav *
“ Lavender… ..soap is….“
*the phone fell from her hand *
…..she broke down in call understanding it was the news she feared the most…
- Meanwhile.. Soap had to wait till they cremate the other body … there was a rule that you can’t see the dead body of a soldier if he’s shot in head or throat … Lucky for him to take the chance…. But the pain it caused in them ..specially in Lavender..haunted him ..
He got the news where they’ll wind away the ashes .. he went there and stood at a distance to avoid gaze …
When he saw Price , Gaz, , Lavender and Simon’s faces with immense grief in … he broke a lot by the sight… but he had to do it … for them , for the world .. to save all..
When it was Lav’s turn to pour the ashes ..she was hugging the ceramic for a time ..Soap wanted to go and hug her but he had to stay far ….
As soon as she poured it and shoved the ceramic to Simon’s hands ..she fell unconscious…Price held her right away..
He was about to go and hold her but someone kept a hand in his shoulder which made him look back in shock ..It was Yuri..
“ I understand why you’re hiding in the shadows and faking your own death Sergeant “
“ Yuri …..”
*He hugged Yuri , him hugging Soap back *
“ We can’t be seen till we face Makarov with our plans and Intel ..I have contacts with Watcher and Nikolai from starting through comms “ *Yuri*
“ I’ll send them intel by unknown ID “ *Soap*
* fist bumps each other *
“For our soil , our land *
*looking back at his mates and Lav *
“ Ah will be back tae ye guys in yin pie..i promise “
2 Days later …
*heads to Lavender’s location *
*comes to a distance and positions his binoculars to Lavender’s window *
“What are you doing sergeant ? “ *Yuri*
“ I can’t go near her ..but I can keep a watch over her till i come in front “ *Soap*
*the sight broke both of the boys hearts*
- She was all dead from inside , her love of life , her only hope , wearing Soap’s jacket and clenching it tight with her pale fingers …
Everything got taken away by a single shot ..Soap noticed her swelled up eyes , red knuckles and tear stained cheek … holding his jacket tight ..
He was all teared up …
“ A'm in yin piece..just bade pure tough fur me loue“
*Jhonny left a bunch of Lavenders in front of her door *
- He knocked and ran to a side for a hide .. Lav opens her door to find no one …seeing down ..a bunch of Lavenders tied up softly..Soap was seeing her from a distance..tears slipping from his ocean eyes..she picked it up and went inside …
- He was staying at Yuri’s safe house till they both get the chance of Ending Makarov’s legacy
Next
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GeneMar, Owner of the Melody Mourning Palace
GeneMar, pronounced, jawn - mar, lived in a tiny village on the south side of the region known as Grosse Mousse, pronounced, graws - moose, big moss. It was a tiny village nestled among the most gorgeous two hundred years old oak trees. Their bottom limbs touched the ground and each huge branch was laden with hefty gray moss that hung like huge icicles. An eerie, but very southern feeling. The moss area was a respite for the south Louisiana Cajun prairie summer heat and humidity. Nestled within that clump of trees was a very deep lake made when the Louisiana government decided to pave a two lane highway leading to a gravel road that led to Gross Mousse.
GeneMar was an anomaly, not your typical southern gentlemen. Some even questioned whether he was a man, but of course those questioning were just being homophobic. Definitely before the Stonewall riots of New York City when gay rights began to gain momentum. GeneMar, a flamboyant young man, had grown up with his grandmother. His parents had abandoned him when they just couldn’t take his feminine mannerisms anymore. One day at dawn they dropped him off on his grandma’s steps; she being a single lady really didn’t have the resources to take care of GeneMar, but she loved him and would die trying to raise him. That’s a grandma’s love.
This gay author knows a grandma’s love and the love of a mom who embraced him as a little boy, one who was different. Of course, my mom has always been a woman ahead of her own time. I’m alive today and thriving because those two amazing women embraced me just as I was. MawMaw Aline let me wear her high heel shoes. I stretched them out and felt bad when I saw her struggling to walk in church on Sunday with shoes too big for her tiny feet. And Mom, Joyce, made sure Santa would bring me a doll when I asked for one. Readers this is the 1958. Those women were trailblazers, and I can only hope I can one day learn to love as they did; to love the outliers, because everyone deserves to be loved.
Okay, now back to GeneMar. He cared for his grandma until the day she died at age ninety-nine. Before cremation was a thing, they cremated her and buried her beneath a big old oak tree in her front yard under some beautiful pink azaleas, grandma’s favorite color and flowers. Those beauties bloomed year round. GeneMar wanted to be able to see her as he sat on the front porch. She was his greatest love as she had cared for him with such a loving spirit. The strangest thing about those azaleas, after grandma was buried they bloomed year round. Even during rare freezes on the Cajun prairie those azaleas were in bloom with the most beautiful pink fluffy flowers. Grandma was alive, her spirit dwelled on the prairie. GeneMar knew for sure that those azaleas were grandma and that she was near watching over him.
GeneMar had begun working at a very young age at a funeral parlor in the tiny village of Grande Mousse. His gentle, feminine spirit had a heart for people in crisis and those with hurting hearts after the death of a loved one. The funeral director decided to retire at the young age of sixty nine and asked GeneMar to become the director. Of course GeneMar was ecstatic to take over the helm of the Melody Mourning Palace located in an old quaint Cajun cottage with a steady stream of water running in a bayou right behind it.
GeneMar just had a way with dead people as he did with living people. And since he had played with makeup all his life, he was perfect for making people look beautiful with just the right amount of applied makeup. Usually, the first words out of family and friends were, “Il a l’air si naturel.” Translated as he looks so natural.
And GrandMar had decided that funeral costs were escalating at an alarming rate. Living in a rural community he cared for his people. He began to make coffins out of cedar wood that he had shipped down the bayou behind the Melody Mourning Palace. Behind the funeral parlor there was a tiny shop where he fashioned the most tasteful, simple, creative coffins. And they were the lowest price around. GrandMar donated many a coffin for people who couldn’t pay. GrandMar saw this as his ministry to people and a way to show them respectful love.
GrandMar was also an excellent hair dresser. He had done his grandma’s and her friends’ hair for years, just because he loved being with and around women. He loved the art of hairdressing, another important skill for a funeral parlor director. And if coffin builder, hairdresser weren’t enough, he was also an excellent seamstress specializing in house dresses. Many older women wore those around the house all day because they were beautiful, comfortable and breathed well in the South Louisiana heat.
And then just when all was well with the Melody Mourning Palace disaster struck. A fire happened one night while no one was there. Thank goodness for that blessing that the place was empty. The Melody Mourning Palace burned down to the ground. The only policeman in town established that it was arson and he vowed to find the culprit. Established as a hate crime against GrandMar because he was GrandMar, different.
GrandMar had such a gentle forgiving spirit that he asked to see the culprit, Will Brown, a young teenager. Together after many sessions in the jail cell, Will told GrandMar how sorry he was to have ruined his business. See, Will Brown had come from a similar situation where he had been abandoned as a child. No one wanted him.
GrandMar eventually adopted Will Brown and together they rebuilt the Melody Mourning Palace. GrandMar knew the secret to life. It’s all about love and forgiveness.
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Day 10 : The Gulaal - Jaiselmer
18th March 2023
After a vegetarian meal under the stars we retired early to our room for a shower and a chill.
This hotel is fabulous however the view from an our window is of a building site although looking out from it now, I can’t actually see anyone working the machinery that has been left there.
We’ve also had several power cuts, the most notable, was one that caused a total black out whilst I was showering. It was completely pitch black with not a glimmer of light, so I though it best just to keep warm under the hot water until the electricity was restored
Todays first stop was Gadiser Lake, a holy expanse of water that is kept topped up by a canal. Within this lake are catfish around 5 foot long and they have the circumference of a large bucket. Gangi, our guide said that people fished these near mythical monsters for food, however they didn’t taste at all good.
Behind the lake were the Ghats, which are the cremation pyres for Hindus and next to them the burial plots for the Muslim
Our next stop was Jaisalmer Fort which also goes by the name Sonar Quila (Golden Fort) as it rises from the desert itself and seems to become one with the golden hues of the sand. The setting sun adds its own magic and shrouds the fort with mystique. The fort is constructed in the classic style of the royals by local craftsmen.
This fort is a world heritage site and around 5000 people live within its walls, mostly from Brahim and Rajput descent.
Its narrow streets are cobbled, broken and steep and gutters run along along side. We left our transport at the bottom gate and began our long slow walk into the fort. I was careful not to slip on the worn stones, but a very old man was squatting on the ground with a chisel and hammer knocking tiny holes into the ground to make the surface a little rougher.
The traffic of men, women, children, dogs, scooters, motor bikes and cows came from every direction, we veered and swerved around each other in some sort of dance, there was me jumping out of the way at every horn blast, trying to avoid the dung that was so freely strewn across the ground, but the cows refused to move and stood their ground, their docile, unblinking , brown eyes staring resolutely ahead of them.
We went into a Jain Temple to admire the stonework on its wall and columns.
Jainism is one of the world’s oldest religions, originating in India at least 2,500 years ago. The spiritual goal of Jainism is to become liberated from the endless cycle of rebirth and to achieve an all-knowing state called moksha. This can be attained by living a nonviolent life, with as little negative impact on any living thing.
Some Jains even refuse to eat anything grown from under the ground, they cover their mouths to stop them inhaling insects and in some cases employ people to walk ahead of them, sweeping the ground and thus avoiding stepping on any forms of life.
By midday, the aroma of the fort grew heady with the smell of cooking food, petrol fumes, cow pats and urine or sewage of some sort. The intense heat didn’t help at all and I was ready to get back to the calm of the hotel.
A visit to the sand dunes was planned for this evening to see the sunset, however this excursion included a camel ride. In all honesty my conscience wouldn’t let me go. I know how some animals are treated in this country with little concern for their welfare and well being, for the sake of 15 minutes of entertainment, the poor camel may have suffered a lifetime of pain.
So we declined and sat by the pool instead catching up on news and dozing, the cool desert wind like a warm blanket covering us.
So tomorrow we are on the move again.
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I'm just so tired, stressed, and anxious right now. My best friend's 5 month old husky Zeke died due to parvo last Wednesday. I know how much she loves him and can only imagine the pain she's feeling. I have grown quite attached to him myself and couldn't believe it when I found out that he died.
She arranged for his cremation in Pet Valley which is located here in Silang, Cavite. She asked me if she could stay here Wednesday evening as she didn't want to be alone on the first night that Zeke is gone. Also it'll be much easier to go to Pet Valley the next day from my place compared to coming all the way from Los Baños. I replied that of course she can stay here. But I've already Googled parvo and I was panicking at the back of my mind because my dog Mochi stays here with me and I learned that the virus is very resilient - it can survive months, even up to a year in the right environment. Most household cleaning products are not enough to kill it. To make things worse it is highly contagious and can easily contaminate objects such as an exposed person's clothes and shoes.
I wanted to support my best friend in whatever way I can, and I didn't want to seem insensitive and callous, so I refrained from asking her to make sure she disinfects before coming over here. Instead I decided to keep Mochi all alone upstairs since Wednesday evening - I avoided approaching him while my best friend was here.
My best friend and I stayed up til 4 in the morning talking about Zeke - the onset of symptoms, his trip to the vet, and his death just two days later. We talked about his life, which was short but well-lived. We cried and laughed and ate cookies and drank coffee and smoked cigarettes in between - it was our small private memorial service in honor of Zeke.
We slept in a different room far away from Mochi. I woke up around 8am to do some chores around the resort and cafe. By 9am my best friend woke up as well, we drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and continued talking about Zeke while she readied herself emotionally to go to Pet Valley. By 10 am her friend got here to give us a ride to Pet Valley. We met up with her boyfriend somewhere near the town center around 1:30 pm. We got to Pet Valley by 2pm, where we paid our last respects during his final viewing before his cremation. When she saw Zeke in his little coffin, wrapped in a white blanket with that serene look on his face, my best friend broke down. Soon I was crying as well, heartbroken for both my best friend and Zeke.
My Thursday didn't end there. We got back around 6pm. I tended the cafe til 10pm and was ready to turn in to bed, exhausted. But then a friend from my previous company messaged me to hang out, and I knew she was going through something so I said sure. She got here past 11 pm and we stayed up smoking and drinking and chatting until 5.30 in the morning.
After she left I made sure to wash myself thoroughly to make sure I wasn't carrying any virus when I finally approached Mochi. But I can't shake the feeling of unease - what if he still somehow gets infected? The virus can stick to shoes, so what if the ground here in our place already got contaminated? How can I ever walk Mochi in peace again with this thought hanging in the air?
Mochi howled when he saw me, I could tell he was upset with the fact that he had to sleep two nights without me. I guiltily apologized while I agonized over his health and well-being. I just can't bear the thought of him dying.
I fell asleep to these thoughts, then was jolted awake barely 3 hrs later by my pending errands for today.
So yeah here I am now, still tired, still stressed, still anxious.
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AIMLESS
White Walls covered by the darkness
The sun's setting while holding onto a sad feeling
I can see the trees Swaying in the wind with a helpless face on
The street lights so bright are making me tear up
Dirty clothes on the ground, unwashed dishes in the sink
Keep piling up like I've never put them away
I keep following my everyday routine aimlessly
I fixed everything I had been doing wrong but why am I not feeling happy
Haven't touched a paint brush in a while now
I'm starting to forget what it felt like
Sitting on the balcony floor, cold breeze hitting my face
I look up at the sky and think "will i ever be able to live?"
Been dead for a while now I'm starting to stink
If I don't bring myself back to life soon I'll have to find a link
Or the time when I'll be cremated won't be far away
I want to break free from these invisible chains
And tell the world about my survival story
I hope my soul finds its way back to my body
If you're gonna be in pain atleast fall in love
What's the point of hurting for no reason at all
No longer able to form Human connections i keep a smile on my face while socialising
But the wind keeps reminding me my time is near
Nowadays I can't see the stars from my balcony, how am I suppose to follow their guidance
In a long distance relationship with the moon i barely get to see her
I hope i live till the day i can see my character development caused by the pain
If not a happy ending atleast it shouldn't be this painful
Empty yet painful, i contradict myself like i always do
By accepting I'm a hypocrite i get by saying anything I want
That's one of the perks of acceptance
It allows you to feel less pain in exchange of hurting others
Wasted my sympathy on people for too long , i have none left
Though I really hope i don't ever run out of hope or love
My apartment is dark and it helps my headache
Will the devil in my mind ever become weak?I hope i don't stay a slave.
-ahomesickhypocrite
#writers on tumblr#writing#writerscorner#free verse#aesthetic#quotes#poem#poems and poetry#spilled poem
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