My Funeral

the priest's voice,
a drone, a low rumble
over the polished
metal of the coffin.
"he loved darts,"
the words spill,
clumsy and hollow.
my family, heads bowed,
eyes wet.
they whisper,
"we never knew."
my friends, they smile,
a knowing smirk.
i loved liquor, women,
and late-night conversations.
i loved the sting of the wind
on my face,
the taste of cigarettes.
i loved the feel of words
spilling onto the page,
raw and unfiltered.
but darts?
that was a lie.
a joke on the preacher,
a punchline for my eulogy.
a last laugh
at the absurdity of it all.
and the people,
they'll buy it.
because they never really
knew me anyway.
just another story,
another myth to be told.
another corpse laid to rest,
another life misremembered.
but that's alright.
i'm gone now.
i'm just a story,
a ghost in the whispers
of the living.
a shadow in the church,
a name on a headstone.
and that's enough.
that's all i ever wanted.