at the moment

when i die, i want others to see me as i was. why change it? keep my clothes the same. this can be a legally binding first will and testament.

they could be untouched, or torn, stretched at the neck. maybe coffee spilled all down them.
their state, created by clashes with my body, together or falling apart. if there's a giant red expulsion out the side, then it would make sense to have it on your clothes, so people could see what happened, maybe a last communication i'd have with others, right?

suit? shitty rags? bland? that's what i am. if i didn't want to be killed in a work-monkey outfit, i'd never wear one. if i wanted to hang myself with a neck tie, i'd do just that, not wear it. there's merit in dress, i know, i know. but wear what you're comfortable in. why sacrifice skin just for others, for the job, for money, for a better sense of less investigation. i'm not saying don't be yourself, but feel yourself. there's a difference.

but why dress it up. i remember my grandmother's funeral, all the make-up, the awkward dress. they said it was to see her one last time and say goodbye. i said goodbye the last time i saw her, and seeing her in my mind will always suffice because i have no other choice. why dress it up. it was only alien to see her in make-up she never wore. we are what we were, and we always will be. and i know my grandmother died with men on her mind. no shame in that.