In My Death

I bet you’ll look so beautiful at my funeral, behind black lace, I bet a shattered face infested with grief and scorn rattled with streams of black tears like rain drops of plague. The nightmares are real and I’ll never know just how you’ll spend your time of remorse, never will I see that smile again. Not the way you used to give it to me. I bet you’ll dress to empress at my burial. Looking so slick and lavish. All dolled up in death blossom. The “what if’s” and “should of’s “scream in dog bark clutter through your mind to the point of exhaustion and illness. Struggle to breathe soft and silent to not disturb the congregation of the fallen. You’ll look around and see other lone women looking as pitiful as you while you’re trying to make up the reason why they’re there. It’ll be fine, just turn your sadness to hatred and curse the corpse to hell fire. Won’t be the first time anyways. You’ll look beautiful however, so those whores will know what time it is.