Bobby Markos Posi Talk

Music plays, but I can't hear the words.
I'm dead.
People play out sorry's and flowers,
but nobody is here for me.
I'm a ghost just like my mom,
both of our tombstone's read,
If you loved me,
People mourn like someone died, they don't get that it was you and I.
The irony is that it's all our friends, dressed in black and talking again.
Still, there's no me, it's just a funeral, just a place to pretend that we care.
Dear world,
I'm not here anymore.