I practice crying for a funeral Who's guest of honor still lives and breathes But my death is inevitable
I watch my face contort and twist As tears fall from my face to the floor The mirror's edges mist
I do not rehearse this for the drama or attention I do it alone, behind closed doors Because when I read the pain on my face It seems so familiar and certain
I cry Simply because I can't stop So I conjure up a reasonable lie To tell myself
My eyes are blurred and shining My lips are swollen and pulled tight My skin is red and blotched with all the colors of rushing blood
I finally look like the person whose thoughts run through my mind all day This is who I should be
I should be wrapped up and trembling every waking moment Trying to drown in tears
E.B. sometimes tears are easier to swallow than the truth