funeral lights

Funeral lights hanging above the boulevard, flickering like tired angels smoking cigarettes behind heaven’s gates

Rain sliding down neon signs, making the whole city look baptized in gasoline and grief

I walked alone through midnight traffic with my hoodie soaked heavy as guilt

Every headlight looked like judgment coming fast through the fog

Motherfucker the streets remember everything

Every lie whispered in parked cars

Every overdose hidden beneath expensive perfumes

Every broken promise dissolving into storm drains beside liquor stores

I saw candles melting outside an apartment building

Flowers rotting softly against concrete like forgotten prayers

Somebody’s son got turned into a hashtag before sunrise

Somebody’s daughter screaming at God through mascara and bloodshot eyes

And the funeral lights kept glowing

Cold as hospital ceilings

Beautiful as destruction viewed from a distance

Cruel enough to make suffering look cinematic

Bitch I been dancing with ghosts since adolescence

Carrying trauma in my pockets like loose change

My soul smelling like burnt wires and cheap incense

My reflection aging backwards inside liquor bottle mirrors

The preacher at the service wore a smile sharp as switchblades

Talking about peace while the family collapsed in silence

Gold chains shining against his collar like counterfeit halos

Even salvation looked commercial under those fluorescent chandeliers

I sat in the back row beside a whore dressed in black velvet

Her thighs crossed like forbidden scripture

She whispered everybody dies lonely eventually

Then pressed her lipstick stained mouth against my ear like temptation itself

Outside the church the sky looked bruised

Purple clouds hanging low as exhausted eyelids

Sirens echoing through alleyways like wolves hunting wounded souls

Kids selling pills beside murals of dead rappers painted larger than saints

Tell me why pain always gets romanticized after the coffin closes

Tell me why nobody calls until flowers surround your photograph

Tell me why motherfuckers wait for funerals to admit they loved you

Like affection only becomes holy after burial

I watched a child release white balloons into the freezing night

Tiny moons floating upward through electric wires and rain

For a second I almost believed in mercy again

Then one balloon burst against a streetlamp sounding exactly like a gunshot

My chest tightened like ropes around condemned men

Heartbeat stumbling drunk through corridors of anxiety

I lit another cigarette with trembling hands

Smoke curling upward like souls escaping purgatory apartments

Fuck I remember her perfume vividly

Cherry blossoms mixed with cigarettes and emotional manipulation

She used to hold my face like fragile scripture

Then weaponize my insecurities during arguments loud enough to wake neighbors

Now every kiss tastes temporary

Every touch feels borrowed from future grief

Everybody swearing loyalty with fingers crossed behind designer jackets

Everybody searching for heaven inside strangers’ bedsheets

The funeral lights outside the liquor store buzzed all night

Insects circling them like worshippers around false prophets

I stood there watching moths burn themselves alive for illumination

Thinking maybe humans ain’t much different

Maybe we all destroy ourselves chasing warmth

Chasing validation

Chasing somebody to say stay alive a little longer

Even when our spirits already halfway buried beneath responsibilities and disappointment

My mother still prays for me before sleeping

Probably asking heaven to untangle the darkness inside her son

But I learned early that some wounds don’t close

They just become decorative under dim lighting and expensive clothes

The city kept breathing around me

Subways roaring beneath pavement like mechanical beasts

Couples fighting through apartment windows glowing blue from television static

Police helicopters circling neighborhoods like vultures above emotional wreckage

And there I was

A lonely motherfucker beneath funeral lights

Trying to distinguish divine signs from hallucinations

Trying to decide whether survival is courage or just another addiction

I passed by a mirror inside a closed storefront

Didn’t recognize the man staring back at me

Eyes looked ancient

Smile looked rented

Soul looked stitched together from leftover catastrophes

Still the lights glowed

Soft and merciless

Turning puddles into stained glass paintings

Turning suffering into something almost holy

And somewhere in the distance

A choir kept singing through cracked speakers

Voices rising fragile as smoke through the cold night air

Sounding less like worship

More like exhausted people begging not to disappear