I Already Went To Your Funeral

Your corpse galavanted aimlessly,

drowning your inhibitions with cheap beer.

Its dances tricked me into believing you were alive again.

I thought you had survived.

I wanted you to survive,

but I already went to your funeral.

-

Your corpse spoke as you did,

then weaponized your words and wounds

like a ghost with unfinished battles lost long ago.

I thought our wounds stopped bleeding.

I wanted to believe you never bled out,

but I already went to your funeral.

-

I knew your soul was in a nicotine limbo

who visited the hellish circles of cocaine and cancer

You searched for salvation in psych wards repeatedly.

I thought maybe I could resurrect you.

I wanted to believe your soul wasn't out of reach,

but I already went to your funeral.

-

After your death, your abusive apologies stank with self-pity.

You deflected your disease, cursed every helping hand. 

Your true hopelessness came right from the corpse's mouth.

I'll never regret giving you a eulogy of honest rage.

I was done wasting time, ready to remember

that I already went to your funeral. 

-

Your funeral was monstrous.

Your coffin reeked of beer and vomit and feces and agony

while you, the drunken undead, danced upon the foulness in soulless, blissful misery…

Your performance was so convincing,

I forgot where I was and who you were to me. 

Rest in piss, imposter.