This poem was inspired by this article on books bound in human skin. Gross, but interesting in a macabre way.
I wonder what happens when we die
Where do our thoughts go,
our hopes, our mistakes, our ambitions?
Do they simply disappear?
Or are they cremated with our bones?
Or are they are floating around, trying to find a new home?
Perhaps they are simply bound in flesh and placed on a shelf,
waiting to be checked out again.
Written by Anjelica N. Ruiz