stop. reciting. the EULOGY!
the damn lady's in a coffin, spindling soul's
probably in the belly of an angel,
getting reborn like her Buddhist friends promised
her she'd be.
She's dead, alright.
‘not terribly sure she's doing too well at it.
Like,
you're supposed to be more present in life
than in death,
but I never gave a s*** about the lady
and here I am in black.
You're not supposed to leave a messy will.
(she left her only child nothing at all)
‘Supposed to show some sign in the sky or some s***-
but it's raining. And I'm soaked.
I'm wearing new shoes and I'm soaked.
everyone knows she’s not following the
rules - she has no clue how to be dead.
They're crying anyway. so am I.
damn lady's my mother.