Why so much proud, one day that caked face, will have more lines than just a smile! Those Manicured nails will crack up, done and dusted, flames will have the smell of perfumes you boasted about all those years and made people yearn for everything you had, from those fake hair extensions to spas every weekend.
Why so much proud about that Gucci dress, becase at the end all will matter is just a piece of cloth to cover your dead body stretched on a stretcher, where people might cry for the little kindness you showed to choose instead for your ego for a change. Pedicured feets will quiver in the air and will sing the stories of times you let go yourself on the sand of the beaches and drew Stars with your feet. Your pecked breasts, that you cared for had lines from the underwires are finally released to show themselves, it’s sagginess held all the memories of those who touched them, fondled them and then left you to feel insufficient and lonely enough to cut your wrist just below the vein because dying seemed but never was easy than to live, as we could never fathom, what after death holds for us.
That Louis Vuitton bag is thrown in the corner for which she saved for a year and refused to give that money to her ailing friend who asked for it. But still she chose to walk to her cremation and shed her heart out in tears while watching her body burn though smell of a burning meat is not always pleasant.
Why so much proud, when all Facebook posts comments, likes, twitter achievements, useless political debate, useless concerns, and expensive shopping of protein shakes, branded cosmetics, applied to that face is going up in the flames with the biggest house of ego that body or a name had? That wooden name plate was customised, so was her car, and her playlist too. Her pets had days booked for spas, useful for them, no not at all but to prove her taste and hygiene to her allies more.
Why so much arrogance, why so much ego for that dress, for that photoshoot, for that piece of junk jewellery, for that handsome bearded boyfriend, where it’s not going to stay with you forever, like the pretty body of your’s, they will cease to exist, like you were once, but then you were born from nowhere will die and go to some unknown place, we will never come to know about. Talking about existence?
Why so much proud? For what? Over what?