A morose charity?

When I die, give my eyes to my father,
For once, let him look at the world I do;
My knuckles, give them to my mom,
Ask her to use them. Well.
Give my nose to a “professional perfume tester”
I’ve always believed I’ve had a flair for fragrance ;
Don’t give away my journal though,
Pencils, stick notes, fountain pens;
I’d always wanted to save them for my daughter.
Do not donate my hair either,
Instead, burn it
I’ve always wanted to know what burnt hair looks like;
Now that I’ll be dead, I might as well satisfy my whim.
Nails and weapons to a victim
My collar bone to an anorexic;
My heart,
Crush it already.
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Author:

I've been writing poetry since I was a kid and my poetry is without fail a description of things that matter, to me. I pretend to not like love poetry. I have an insane love for popcorn!

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