Metempsychosis

When I die, they harvest my corneas. Donations for science.
I no longer need to see.

They harvest my heart. I never love.
Everyone I think loves me only betrays me in the end.

They harvest my liver, for what it's worth. It's worn out long before from the alcohol I consume.

They harvest my lungs.
But my lungs are long since useless from all the cannabis I smoke.

Harvest my skin. Veins.

Harvest my bones before the devil can turn them to dust.

But it's when they finally come for my soul that I find I can finally live.