I cannot raise the dead
When the flesh has rotted
And the bones have turned to dust
As if there were never bones at all
The flowers I plant in the surrounding earth
wilt and die
An attempt at necromantic gardening
Necromancy exists only in fantasy
We make our perceptions
Based on what we see and feel
But we never know that person’s
feelings
self perception
Actual self
Our vision is fabricated
by what our senses tell us
and our senses are keen at lying
Backseats, Vodka. 