Grief sobbed out in stereo
We, the worried, march,
Like ants, in single file,
Like the guilty, on trial,
Towards the sorrowful;
It’s too early in the morning,
For this much ritual.
Everyone is a saint at their own funeral.
Amid the cries, we listen to sweet lies,
Of who you never were and
Who we wish you would’ve been.
Death has cleansed you of sin,
Leaving the living filthy.
What is your legacy?
You created nothing.
And wasted everything.
All that remains is painful,
Reminders of shame and argument.
I don’t know how I got so bitter,
But I can’t just sit here,
Listening to fairy tales spoken like gospel.
You fell so fall no one could save you,
These words voiced way too late can’t change you.
PS: Does it sound like I wrote this at a funeral? …I wrote this at a funeral.