Who Wants Flowers When You're Dead? Nobody.

"Then I thought about the whole bunch of them sticking me in a cemetery and all, with my name on this tombstone and all. Surrounded by dead guys. Boy, when you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all. WHO WANTS FLOWERS WHEN YOU'RE DEAD? Nobody."
- Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger

This makes sense. Why would you need flowers and those kind words when you're dead?

I mean, why is it always too late for people to realize your worth of a good deed when you were alive and breathing in and out oxygen and fighting the demons inside you that whisper you're better off dead?

Why do they need to fix your cold body, put on a lipstick on your pallid mouth, brush your eyebrows, redden your chicks, and all  when they can't even beautify you with words when you were there with your heart pumping your blood that circulates around your body trying too hard not to stop beating?

Why do they need to dress you up when they can't even dress you up with words to feel good when you were naked out of shame and frustrations and disappointments and depressions and that fuckin anxiety tryin to pull down the skin that's left of you because your clothes were ripped off and nothing is left to be ripped off?

Why do they need to cage your body into a box of your own and be your home when they can't even give you shelter during the storms that attacked you leaving you homeless, weary like a wet bird shaking and trembling on a twig, wishing somebody would open a door for help.

Why is it too late for everybody to see your worth?