Funerals

Got a gun in my pocket

Keep my left hand resting on it

Dead woman walking

Heat from the sun

Beating down on me

In a haze

A bit dizzy

The air’s thick

Weighing on me

Makes the waves lazy

Slowing the sea

Like molasses at my feet

Can’t cry at funerals

Can’t tell a lie

Truth be told

Cut and dried

Not afraid to die

There’s a glare in my eyes

Blurry vision

Going blind

A fuzzy halo of light

Glass in the sand

Shards everywhere

Drunken stupor

Making my way into the fire

Moth to a flame

Getting hotter

Weapon is raised

Itchy finger

Bang, bang, bang