Pleasing Undertone Poem by Wes Thompson

I fear that all I have to say is redundant
and when I die they'll only be able to speak
of me as what they thought I wanted to be
it could be worse
and it will be when they can't find my body
because I've already scattered my ashes
and even if they could retrieve
every speck
they'd never get back a single moment
not a word of thanks
not even a smile
they'd just have a big pile of ashes
and I've been told that ashes are
a good source of nutrients for plants
but that won't make them feel better
I've distinguished between happiness
and pleasing distractions
and I have a few moments
before I start feeling worse
so I've decided to share them with you