He bounced atop my stomach to
Drums
Reverberated concrete chasms.

He beamed a’brilliant with each and
Every
SMASHED! Cymbal, the thunder!

He’d only giggle ‘morrow
Now;
So passed the tears of procession.

I’d hold him tightly, he’d warm, he’d
Hug,
And know no bereavement today.

With eyes wandering left, darting
Right,
Both body and beloved pass by.

I envy him. I worship him, I was
Him
The day before I’d ever know death.

there are those who weep;
weep in joy, happiness, love.

there are those who prefer silence;
even in the happiest of moments.

there are those who cry;
cry for many reasons, all of which are true.

there are those who boil;
angry, spilling over the walls that contain them.

there are those who smell like flowers.

and those who look like funerals.

he looked like a funeral.

There was a funeral procession today
Did you see it?
I didn't get too
I bet it was beautiful
Lot's of black?
I've always liked black
How many cars were in it?
10? 20?
30?!
I would have given anything to see it
I wish i wasn't cooped up in this box
I miss everything

You won't believe this, rightfully so, you'll think it’s not true
but a person will do anything, when he starts losing his *****
I didn't feel that any one loved me, so I devised one day
to test out my theory, in the most bizarre type of way

I found a way after considerable thought, to put myself on display
and to be able to stay inconspicuous, from a secure distance away
I watched them attend my eulogy, peculiar as it may sound
enjoying the reception, it was nothing short of spellbound

Who could think, a person as crazy as I might be
going to such extremes, who would ever foresee
to accomplish this great task, of convincing my heart
someone would somehow care, if I really did depart

In the back of the room, with shades covering my eyes
sinking into a chair, surrounded by this chorus of cries
who would ever suspect, that this stranger sitting in the back
was really not far away, from being deemed a quack

When my funeral was about over, I watched those flowers start to bend
they too seemed to be saying, haven't you yet been able to mend
so I pushed myself up front, in order to get a better look
this deaths looks too real, what if I really did pass over that final brook

As I approached my casket, overtaken by this powerful desire
could this really be happening, shaking with a cold perspire
to escape from this nightmare, there was but one thing to do
hastening to relieve myself, running from bed to bathroom, I flew

The lesson here to be learned, after thinking about it, was simple and clear
we often have these fears, and yet are not always aware
what’s important for us, is to truly recognize in ourselves, which is the key
understanding our need to feel loved, and the absurd lengths we go, in order to see

Lately, I spend my free time imagining how I'd look at a funeral.
I've been before, but all I felt was discomfort and splintering hatred.
What if you died. My darling, I'm afraid I wouldn't change.
I'd go and stare at the wall, the floor, the people who don't know you.
Dry eyes and a judgmental, lethargic gaze settled in.
I never cried in front of you, why would cry in front of them.

I'd watch as the flag was presented, uniforms marching by the coffin.
Perhaps this would be different. I think my hatred would burn a bit brighter.
Those who ordered your death, now dictating your burial. They don't love you. They don't care.
All you are is one more casualty. One more insignificant ant being squished underfoot and forgotten.

My best friend
clutched my fingers like an
oyster on its pink, luscious flesh,
and kissed me
once on each cheek,
in the manner of a ship forcing the sea apart when against the wind,
then shoved me excitedly to her father’s coffin,
and begun crooning to him how I’ve been a good girl,
and how my college grades were very exceptional,
with an air of a flighty tea-party mutual introduction
before giggling with the
lost, hollow smile of a drunkard.
In the kitchen,
her youngest brother
absently-mindedly whipped up a feast of
grainy meatballs,
their father’s favourite dish, he carefully explains,
with murky crow-claws etched beneath his peach-pink eyes
and a tipsy smile that reminded me of barbed wires,
before placing a bowl on the coffin
as if forcing his father to eat,
while the preacher majestically proclaimed outside,
with the red, jagged glare of the funeral lights,
about how it is God’s will to bring him,
to a better place.

When I die, I ask of you to not burn me.
I ask you find me a plot of land to lay my head
For I have found love in the light of the sun.

When I die, I ask my funeral be an outdoors affair.
Sit me in my open casket and think of me fondly.
Do not cry, for you will disgrace me.

When I die, I ask the doors and windows of my home be opened for my soul to sore,
For I'm sure i was happy there, and there my spirit shall dwell

When I die, cover all the mirrors of my abode with fabrics,
So that my soul will find its way to the skies instead of being trapped behind glass.

I ask you all be merry and rejoice
For I know not where I shall be,
But my nomadic soul will be forever happy
When I no longer plagued by my hatred and insanity

When I die, i ask you still love me.

My faded pictures will always be there
to remind me that you never will again
Never will I lose the ability to care
about you, my dearest friend

I will never understand why it works this way
how a "see you later" becomes a lie
How it still hurts such a long time after that day
when I made new tears that I had never before cried

Tears of equal parts disbelief, helplessness, and pain
They dropped from my eyes onto my shirt
soaked through to my heart and stained
old but still as fresh as the next morning's dirt