wading through the faces as they fade into the portraits
swallowed by the room of fresh pressed funeral suits
cold eyes boring holes into the back of my head
all the boring jokes i've told to best dressed mourning guests

the rest, my best guess
arrived to celebrate your death
no one thinks to bring flowers for the living
april showers bring may flowers
but you pushed daisies into my hands
when you're left holding the bouquet
you won’t stop to smell the roses