Eh, I was not feeling this topic, wrote so many beginnings and scrapped them... Fuck it.
Oh, what a beautiful mourning today.
Going to a funeral in the pouring rain.
Emotionless when no one else is, it's sort of a bit awkward.
But I still remember her tellin me she wished she would've aborted her bitch daughter.
If only they knew the abuse I was forced to go through,
I know then they might've offered some condolences.
Now I gotta do this eulogy, of course, with no truth.
It's my own little secret. She was polite to all the other kids I'd grown up with.
A cookie cutter housewife on the outside, but a monster behind closed doors.
Should I let that pretty picture she painted for the public remain in full form?
The question hangs dangerously at the edge of my teeth as I take my place behind the podium.
Breathless, anxious, feeling faint, lips pressed together as I decide what to open with.
Cleared throat, shifted posture and shuffled the papers.
I can't bear to hear what I wrote… I chuckle and adjust the mic.
"I'm hear today, in front you all, friends of my mother, my neighbors...
ahhh, you know what? Fuck it, she was a cunt, goodbye."
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