Erase Me

When I’m dead and gone you should archive me in a rusty file cabinet in the back of your mind and weld the damn thing shut. Delete my pictures. Burn my words. Erase any trace of my existence, root and stem, like I was never there at all.

I don’t want to become boring history. I don’t want a funeral, eulogy or grave. I don’t want to slowly fade away in a generation or two. I want to vanish all at once, leaving behind no fame, no name, no shame, just an empty picture frame.