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When we all go to Memphis, we spread Ludington sand in Matt’s flower beds,  like somebody died, and a silence falls as we let the sand sift through our fingers like ashes.  It smells like Michigan, like seashells and ***** lake water,  and it drowns out the construction workers making new-money houses.
Instead of funeral hymns, we’re blanketed by sawdust and cigarette smoke.  We sip and savor Evan Williams and for once, none of us speaks.  
Our veins light on fire from the whiskey, and our souls share a collective ache,  like our bodies are made from some sort of symbiotic cell.  

After The Spreading Of The Sand, we go to a haunted bar where entry is a password, where there’s a frown of a front door, and the exposed brick walls reek of the dead girls upstairs. I think, This is Memphis, a very loud city with louder secrets –  the overpowering shadow spreading its fingers in all her corners, silent until she swallows you whole.  

Memphis realigns your center –  
a snap of the blues, a ***** of whiskey and,  all of a sudden, things run much more smoothly.  

Memphis, she’s known as the City on the Bluff,  a place where summer storms split at the river,  don’t reconvene ‘til east of Arlington.  
Her protection, it’s always there.  
Like DNA shared among siblings,  blood is always thicker here in her quarters.  

Memphis, she tells me I should’ve kicked Worry to the curb all along.  

Memphis, she keeps her people safe.
How come
I am always dying as a martyr?
My thoughts constantly drifting
To funeral marches and sobbing relatives

How will I die?
A botched parachute jump?
Saving a small child
From a moving vehicle?

My funeral will be adorned
With white icing
The flag of my nation
And a flock of doves

Testaments
To my infinitely philanthropic nature
And unending commitment
To human liberty

Why is it so easy
To tack a medal to my breast?

Maybe because
I exist
As my bloodline
dowses its progeny with ****** praise

So eager
to bathe
In the violent tears of this world
That are ancient castles and monuments to men wearing wigs

Or maybe
Because I'm just selfish
And I often *** all over myself
On my paunchy stomach
A day of lone suffering. Today was the day I was expected to participate, today was the day i was supposed to be positively sublime and sane. I suppose that I wasn't supposed to grieve today given the fact that I hated him so, I don't. what a tragedy. my broken soul was forced to smile and wave in the guests and family members. what a pity. I smile and choke down my laugh and furious tears. how mournful. The whelp gets the better of me even in death. what a tragic flaming fate of twisted blood battles and a broken love. He won the women. I look into the crowd behind me and I feel torn apart. **** the masses. I spin back around a walk to the coffin and feel a chill in my spine. ***** of a man. I think of his enormous wealth and empire. I spit in his face. what trash of a man. I walk to the exit and see his wife, my "old inspirational love." I walk forward and slash though the doors towards a new future and never look back. the man is dead and so, my madness is finally appeased. I dash and run and smile, I'm free! bless the god who granted me this gift and brought ****** into the world!
you left this world
with no last words
it was too early
or maybe too late

i cried a little
but not enough
a tear went down

from my eyes
to my lips
the bitter taste
of a single tear

no feelings felt
no attachments dwelt

my soul
a lost hole
death
my last breath

when will we ever meet
when will we ever bleed

hand in hand
until the very end
My grandfather passed away, I see all those people around me are sad I should be sad but I'm not
I would tell you how empty it was,
how five people were scattered around the hole in the ground,
but only two really cared,
but I can't.

I would tell you how long it took me to get there,
how tears stung my darkened eyes
as my black heels sunk into the softened dirt.
And I would tell you about the sadness I saw in everyone's eyes that day,
but I can't.

I would tell you how I missed him,
how he was so kind,
how he was always there for me,
how he didn't deserve what came to him,
but I cant.

I would tell you how much it rained,
or what day it was,
or how small the gravestone had been,
but I can't.

Because he was not kind,
he was never there,
there was no sadness,
and I don't know if he deserved it.
Maybe he did,
maybe all the pain he caused finally caught up to him.

Because I didn't count how many people were there,
I didn't wear black heels,
and I don't know what day it was.
I didn't go.
I didn't see the headstone,
or how they cried.
How they shed tears for their tormentor because now,
they had missed him.

I would tell you I didn't want to go,
but I can't.
I would tell you that I had a choice,
but I didn't.

I just stayed home,
staring at the ceiling
while they held an empty funeral.
Steve Page Jan 15
Forgotton memories stomped in like strangers at a funeral, uninvited and unwanted, smiling like they belonged, but no one recognised their songs. As they talked, as they drank and sang, as they told their stories they became more strangely familiar. We found their smiles infectious despite our resistance and started to recognise some of their tunes at their insistence. Faint but familiar laughter echoed from fathoms below and slowly our mourning began to losen its wet hold. Our sadness became tinged with a happiness long forgotton and scenes from years long gone rose from the bottom of our dark well of emotion, lifting our faces to the surface, giving us a glimpse of a greater hope and clearer purpose, to tell our stories, with laughs and tears finding an uncomfortable coexistence as we danced and shared this messy remembrance.
Grief is a messy business.
You've stolen the breath from my body

As if I was more that just a corpse to begin with

But I still fight

I will rise from this grave
&
Bury my demons in my place

At least for tonight they will stay silent

At least until the moon sets over a grave I will eventually be forced back into
&
My demons walk amongst the living once more

I hear their cries in the break of morning

I run to you as they hunt me

Seeking shelter
&
A certain comfort only family can provide

As the world outside crumbles with chaos
&
The monsters that were once mine get closer

I notice a strange familiarity to their return

A sort of tragic comfort

The same way I always felt around you

In this realization,

I set the house on fire with emotion
&
Trap myself in this home

I have no way of escape

So I let them drag me back under

To a place where I belong

They bury me alive
&
Instead of helping me fight my demons,

You were trying to put out the flames on a house that had already crumbled
&
In all this destruction,

It seems you were the only one who survived.
it's only for a moment
that they lay there
in the light of your agony
sensing for a brief click in time
the solemn dark halls
where you now reside
a touch of hands
a tear wiped away
a painfully strained invite to call
and when the final rights
the final grains of dirt
seal your final day
my soul goes with you
and it shall be no more than my mortal coil
they bid farewell
when my final breath is spent
remorse for someone suffering a loss is so brief...
divinity m Jan 6
once my time has been cut short
do not put me in a pretty box
and leave me in an eternal sleep.
don't mourn the person i used to be.
instead, extinguish the fire
that was once inside me
with more fire.
disintegrate every peice of me.
scatter my ashes
across the four corners of the earth.
or drown them.
please
make sure i won't be able
to ever come back.
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