My Funeral, My Last Breath

I planned my funeral, down to the bone.  
Wrote the welcome for a crowd I’ve never known.  
Prayers for a soul that’s been dead for years,  
but no one noticed, no one shed tears.
 
I picked the playlist, my final say—  
AI Gonplei Ste Odon, where I’ll decay.  
Because even in death, I need a hand  
in controlling the chaos I could never withstand.
 
I wrote my obituary in a single line—  
“She lived, she hurt, she fell out of time.”  
Nothing more, because what’s there to tell  
of a life lived quietly in its own hell?
 
I bowed my head in silence—my own curse.  
Because silence is the only thing that hurts worse  
than the empty smiles I wore every day,  
while everyone looked, but turned away.
 
My eulogy? A tribute to pain.  
To all the struggles that drove me insane.  
Not some polished speech about light or grace,  
but the truth of tears no one could face.
 
Tributes? I barely have enough to say—  
five people who didn’t just walk away.  
Five fingers to count the ones who cared,  
the rest? They never even dared.
 
You won’t be at my funeral, don’t even try.  
If you didn’t see me when I was alive,  
don’t pretend you loved me now I’m dead.  
Save your tears for someone else instead.
 
To those who watched me break and bleed,  
who turned their backs in my time of need—  
thank you for every ounce of pain,  
for making sure I never felt whole again.
 
When I die, don’t dress me in lies.  
Don’t lay me down under clear blue skies.  
Burn me, scatter me, trash me if you can—  
I’m not a body, I’m a broken woman.
 
Forget the gravestone, I don’t need a place.  
Who would visit? No familiar face.  
I have no friends, just five who stayed,  
the rest of them? I was their charade.
 
So don’t stand over me with words you never meant,  
don’t whisper love when it was never sent.  
This funeral is mine, and mine alone—  
a final goodbye carved from stone.
 
No applause, no grand farewell,  
just the truth of the life I lived in hell.  
No closure, no tied-up bow,  
just the silence I learned to know.
 
This is my funeral—cold, raw, and bare,  
if you didn’t care then, don’t pretend to care here.  
No lies, no fake affection to give,  
just a silent nod to the life I didn’t live.