Today was the first time I pictured a funeral.
The hearing of poems and songs I secretly socked away next to my hope.
The ones I always denied would have any meaning to me, not really.
I can hear them blaring through the cheap speakers, crackling at crucial moments in the verses. This would be my coping mechanism, my release from sadness parsed out in tons upon me. The net on my eyes that could catch my tears before they fell.
The pops, the hisses like pressure valves, the distortion my ohm.
The barrier that could hoard my grief away from those who are trying with all their might to share it but never could, not really.