Funeral Home Thoughts


I write this last week–a week ago today, actually.  The title is lacking, leaves much to be desired, but these are largely the therapeutic half-rhymes scribbled in a cathartic haste.  Either way, I’m still fond of them.  They say something that I otherwise would have no words for.

o-o-o

Not being able to park is a theme here.

I assume there’s too much on the mind

to make sure you fit in between a set of parallel lines–

especially when half the time you pull in crying.

Dying is expensive.

And nothing from insurance is going to help

cover the cost of the empty side of the bed,

the casseroles even though you have no appetite

to be fed,

the apologies for the loss that leaves you

wishing you too were dead.

o-o-o

Beloved

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About thefreescribbler

My life is one of words. I am a scribbler, whose thoughts are best expressed through adjectives and phrases and punctuation marks. I would not go so far as to call myself a writer, although many would disagree. I’m characterized more by my unfinished works and half-embodied ideas, scraps of stories and parts of poems. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer, but I’m okay with being a scribbler right now. It fits my personality and style, and best expresses my aims. I’m not trying to create some lofty version of literature. I’m just a kid blogging about life. View all posts by thefreescribbler

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