you say tomorrow will be better
you say the world will start over
you say the sun will shine again
my empty, sacrificed soul is lying on this godforsaken land
breathless
drowning
in a sea of opiods i am a bubbled addict
a bubble that ceases to exist
a bubble that is overlooked
a bubble so blank you'd almost consider it dust
dreams are for the hopeful
but where is hope when every inch of your skin feels like a graveyard
where is hope when blood feels like it is draining out of your body at the speed of sound
where is hope when the lump on your throat blocks your airway and you feel your body shutting down
where is hope when you question everything that you are, am i even a thing
where is hope when the answer never seems to stay
where is hope when this temple feels like it was built only to shatter
where is hope when the ground I walk on turns into a sinkhole and the water I drink turns into a sea monster
where is hope when the sunshine i bathe in turns into a third degree burn, my skin sCREAMING RIP IT ALL OFF
where is hope when my parasitic mind is looking to swallow me whole
where is hope when i sit on this empty highway and wonder if
tomorrow will actually
be worth fighting for
where is hope in this funeral
don't ask me where's the body
i am the body
your forced eulogies and apologies, don't ask me
don't ask me where's the body
i am the body
this is the funeral, i am the funeral

The death of a somebody
Is life affirming.
My favorites attend
In the ante-room,
Eyeshot from the shell.
They appeared to be telling
Off-colored jokes,
Childish giggles, anxious glances.
Others talked nervously on their health,
Their swing and trips, car salesmen, and politics.
Violet remarked on the wedding, the bride's redolent dress,
Brocade and settings.
The vows were personal and promising.
Funeral Home is an ironic euphamism;
But the coffee is strong and bitter,
I burned my tongue.
I didn't see much black, mostly pastels.
It's a multi-media presentation of family,
Old and getting precariously older,
Cavorting at the cottage,
Sitting under Christmas trees,
Holding up scarves and mittens.
Everyone smoked then. Everything's hidden.
Someone's grandson touched his hand,
Then recoiled into the nearest waist.
Except for the flowers and box,
There was vibrancy and planning
Where to meet following the graveside,
For a drink and toast to why we're here,
To why any of us are here at all.

A buzzing. A whooshing pressure.

My body is here but where am I?

Deep inside my head

The empty seat in front of me comes back into focus

I dreamt a lacquered coffin

Now I see one

People I should know milling about

Exiled from the family, I keep a respectful distance

This poses a semantic problem for people:

“I’m sorry for… your loss?” Their loss? The loss?

I can’t process this strange mix of emotions

So I stay deep inside my head

And wait for my body to walk away

I picked out a funeral song back when I was still alive.

Of course I did all the preparations when I was alive. I still sang the song of my life long before I ended up here.

I still want a good song to "play me out".
So I picked "Save Rock And Roll" by Fall Out Boy to usher me into Elton John styled heaven white tuxedos and all.

But death is so simple. It happens and nobody can stop it. I don't need to plan my funeral when I know you can do it for me.

I would joke about writing your eulogy, like we expected you to go first. And we didn't back then. Back when I was still alive.

So now that I'm... here.
Pick the song for me.
I think you know which one would put me to rest.

Shout the eulogy at everyone, tell them how this wasn't supposed to happen, but it does. My family will be as sad as I was thinking about when they would end up here. But now they just watch.

And I guess I that's all I can do now.

Welcome everybody to the most exciting event of your lives.
Welcome one and all, and thank you so much for attending my funeral!

And I know you’re probably confused as to why this is an exciting event, but believe me, this is an event you do not want to miss!!

Make sure that when attending my funeral, that you do not wear formal clothing, and do not wear black.

I want you, to wear the most colorful thing you can find in your closets. I want my funeral to have so much colour!

There will be so much rainbow, that my funeral could be the set for a Skittles commercial!

Die with the rainbow, Taste the rainbow!

I, of course will not be dressed formal.

I’ll be working a pair of sweats, a t-shirt, an open jacket and a snapback turned at 180 degrees, because IT LOOKS AWESOME!

You all should also look as amazing as I do. But do not, under any circumstances look better than I do.

Remember, this is still MY day, I am the most important thing in this room, Why?!!??

Because I’m super dead!

Side note: I’m afraid of dying…

But it’s not like that matters anymore, because I’M DEAD. Literally living my eternal fear. (Or dying in my eternal fear.)

Anyway!! Another rule! Do not… get drunk on my funeral day. You MUST be sober, in order to fully experience this event for what it is. And what is it?? A celebration!!!

Why would anybody celebrate MY death, you ask?

This question has a simple answer: I don’t want you to cry at my funeral…

I want you to laugh, I want you to laugh so much, that you end up crying anyway. Laugh because even though a journey has ended, it ended on a good note.

I want you to party! Dance until your tire of moving! And when you dance.

Tell yourself that you feel good.

Because even though I’m dead, I’m thankful that you came to my funeral.

Enjoy the celebration.

And if, you write my eulogy, write about the times I made you laugh, or the times I won medals, or hugged you so tight because I really didn’t want to let go until I had to.

Don’t write that you’re sorry, or that I deserved more time, or that I’m in a better place now.

Thank you, for everything. And my last gift to you is giving you a reason to be happy in a time of sorrow.

Be happy knowing that you got to be a part of my life. Because I’m happy knowing that I was part of yours.

We convened a conclave
Where the famiglia
Was casting sideways looks,
Keeping secrets from survivors.
Papa had passed,
His mantle drapping the remains.
And a day looms for its passing
To an unelected recipient
From the unresponsive benefactor.
Dirges were played.
Outside I lit a cigarette
And the cloud of smoke rose skyward.
The ballots have been counted.

I dreamt last night and it was a dream filled with red flowers.
You, pinning me down.
Sweat.
The beach.
Big bodies of water.
Gunshots.
Rivers of blood.
Funerals.
Funeral flowers.

You said that lilies are funeral flowers but I kept dreaming about roses.

You pushed me to the edge and I awoke in a cold sweat and it's like breathing but not getting enough oxygen in and you're drowning and I'm still dreaming about roses.

You kissed me on the cheek and whispered sweet nothings into my ear while we followed the moonlit path through fields and forests and by the time we reached our final destination it was sunrise and I guess I understand now why you say lilies are funeral flowers because they're everywhere now, they're all I can see and you're gone.

You lead me to these lilies and then you left and nothing hurts quite like being alone with your funeral flowers.