No one came to my funeral
Yes, I am, very very dead
No one came to my funeral
Because they aren't right in the head.

No one came to my funeral
Only a couple close friends
No one came to my funeral
Just well wishes sent

No one came to my funeral
They left mom and dad all alone
No one came to my funeral
They just sat there at home

No one came to my funeral
Even though I'm dead
No one came to my funeral
Because of the hijab on my head

if life is like a box of chocolates
and i will never know what i’ll get,
how long do i have to await
the poisoned one?

or is every piece filled
with a little bit of poison
that takes eighty years to ****
or seventy five
or tomorrow
or today.

you ever wake up at 6 am on a holiday
and try to force yourself back to sleep?
bur your body just refuses and insists
to slouch into the arms of your mind
the arms of your mind that keep you
in shackles of an uncertain next second
what if a bomb goes off
what if an earthquake happens
what if that plane in the sky i hear crashes into my window
what if my neighbours die
what if someone is murdered in front of my eyes
what if what if what if
this uncertain next second is certain
to be the cradle i lay in as i take my last breath
will you say goodbye?
or will you walk by like you’ve always done?

will you fulfill the hunger at the pit of my stomach?
will you play my favourite songs at my funeral?
(will there even be a funeral?
do you know my favourite songs?)

this uncertain next second will sing me to slumber
and shake me awake at 6 am on a holiday
remind me of my 2 am poetry
and put my body in your hands to carry.

Last words are for weddings and for funerals,

But in a weird and cruel way,

Love can be both.

They've gathered at his daughter's house,
I passed cars pulling to the curb;
The patriarch has been replaced,
His chair now sits usurped.

Will someone raise a glass to toast him,
Recount some craic to roast him?
Praise his assets,
Shush his regrets,
Strum his unplayed guitar.

They'll share feasts on his bench,
Conceive on handmade beds,
Take down a book from his many shelves,
And talk as though he's there,
Sleeping, unaware.

     What was it that he said?
     He talked of love a lot.
     Did he get it right?
     He shared what he got.
     Did well for a sot.
     He could turn a *****,
     Write a verse,
     Right a wrong,
     Could dialogue with who knows what,
     And if he couldn't fix it,
     We knew we were *******.

They just might go to sleep tonight,
And dream as though he's there,
Still sitting in his chair.

You marveled at her beauty
And began to turn chartreuse
Poking fun at her
Only made her think of a hangman's noose

She bawled bitter tears
But there was no turning back
You fired insults
Her cracking with every attack

You made her life miserable
Called her crybaby
Never regretting anything
She's spending a lot of time away from school lately

Turns out she wasn't skipping,
Actually she's dead
And it seems that your words
Were the very thing that took off her head

So when you're at her funeral
Weeping and wondering why
Just remember
That it was you who first made her cry

My father’s watch,
I notice stopped.
His movement ceased
to turn the cogs,
that spin the gears,
which move the dials,
that give the promise
of a while.
 
The watch now mine,
but still it’s stopped.
It sits inside a precious box.
The frozen hands,
my father still,
his whispered breath,
his secrets kept.
Regret, regret.
 
One day ready
to wear that watch,
I’ll move the gears,
start time again,
in good knowing
the hour I’m stood
will come to be,
eventually.

It was the dripping sound that woke me
the subtle, soft tones, going off like clockwork
other things seemed to dim out in it's wake
it brought peace, even if it was murk.

I wish I could be there when it happened
the fancy suits, the large gathering
some words were said, some hands shook
a sadness hidden in the endless chattering.

I felt the rain come down on me
drop by drop, rolling down my face
the harder I tried to wipe it off
more seemed to come, at a faster pace.

A fire was lit and people gathered around it
some holding hands, some clinging to each other
maybe they felt the rain too, I couldn't say
the colors in the sky did seem to flutter.

I sat and let the rain wash over me
there were no clouds, though my face was still wet
wishing for things to change once again
I realize, you only want what you can never get.

one: isn't she just gorgeous?
two: i bought her the best clothes i could afford. i know she can't really appreciate them now, but i wanted her to look nice.
three: look at that smile, she's definitely one of God's beautiful angels
four: she looks so peaceful.
five: go be loud somewhere else, this isn't the occasion
six: thank you for the gifts, they're truly appreciated.
seven: i haven't been able to properly leave my house in a week, i've just had so much to do to prepare.
eight: her brother and sister brought a teddy bear for her, it's one of the softest things i've ever felt.
nine: i wish my father could have been here, i haven't seen him in such a long time.
ten: i just got her baptized.
eleven: i think the flower headband is a bit much, don't you? i mean, it's pretty, but i don't think it's necessary- she's pretty enough as is.
twelve: i'm going to be stuck at home for a long time after this, aren't i?
thirteen: when does the pain start going away?
fourteen: i haven't had time to take a shower in the past few days, it's been too difficult.
fifteen: come give your little sister a kiss. yes, i know she looks kind of funny but she's still your sister.
sixteen: these bills are going to be expensive
seventeen: i'm not sure what to do next.
eighteen: it's awfully cold in here.
nineteen: i've been tired for days
twenty:  look at my beautiful baby girl!

Do you think they'll send flowers to my graveside, so barren, so empty?
Will they say all those pretty things that they think they always meant to?
Will they give a god-****, when the dog collared man, pulls a clump of live earth from the graveside and then lets it fall?
Did they ever care at all?

Do you think they can finally stop all the family bickering?
And walk from the graveside hands held, like they did as young children?
And as the cars pull away, for the tenth time today, through walls built so high that the dead cannot breach them.
With tears in their eyes - what lesson were you trying to teach them?

So give me no flowers kept fresh by the tears of torn hearts,
Bring only your memories of the good times we've shared in the past.
For I am now free.
In every bird, in every flower, in every tree.