Instead of fun
we had a funeral
as if I put to my head a gun
which isn't too subtle.

Our lives were on a roller coaster,
like a scattered puzzles
coloured posters
Irish troubles.

We were drained,
had to pretend being okay,
the bile remained
when I had pushed you away.

How dare you say those things,
so hurtful and obnoxious,
I wish I had wings
to fly away from my subconscious.

Your words still stab me in my head,
I can't escape,
to anatomize the dead
you had stupidly claimed.