Sing It Out

*The Funeral*
Each passing day has been unbearable, knowing that you only live because of a heart that doesn't belong to you and belongs in your friend. But they sacrificed themselves for you.
The thoughts were unbearable, the nightmares excruciating and yet I still live and mourne. My days consist of the same thing, get up, talk to Gerard, mourne, cry, eat, to an extent, talk, mourne and sleep. I should be doing more, I should be making the most of the second chance that I had but here I was being a fucking useless prick. 
I awaken From my dark thoughts as I look around from the derelict table I sit at. Nobody wanted to talk to me at all, they knew what had happened and I couldn't bring myself to go to his friends or family. The mere thought of it sent nausea shooting up my body. 
"Frank?" came an angelic voice. I looked up past my fringe which was slightly too long and looked at my raven haired boy. 
"They want you to say a few words, because you knew him so well. Dont worry, I've already spoken and told everyone that you're finding it hard-"
"No, I'll do it." if it's one last thing I can say to Bob, I must do it now. 

I walked shakily through the wooden doors which opened with an ear piercing creak and it opened up to a large room flooded with black and white roses, dark decorations and rows upon rows of tear stained eyes turned to face me. Some looked with sadness for myself and Bob, yet some with pure anger and disgust, and I don't blame them. Even though I thought I would inevitably pass out on my way to the front, I was tumbled onwards and turned to face this army of sadness. 
"I honestly don't know what to say- He was an amazing friend and I never really thought of him as a teacher or just another person following the rules. He always stood out from the crowd. Then one faithful day, he noticed my awkwardness and unnerving. He took me in as if a son, with such love and hope and without him, we wouldnt be anywhere and I would be the one laying in that coffin. What he did was- the most heroic act anyone will ever see in their lifetime and we should be grateful for what he has done. I don't know what else to say, so I will recite you a poem I once learnt in class one time. It's by Dylan Thomas. 

' Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'

Bob, I can't express how thankful and sorry I am, but all I can say is so long and goodnight my dear friend, until we meet again."
I was now met with a totally different audience, all of which were sad and begging for- forgiveness? I didn't stop to talk, I didn't stop to shed a tear in front of anyone. What I did do was walk straight back out the doors without a glance back, find the exit and was met with the cold autumn air of which the wind blew my hair in all sorts of directions. I didn't look back or think of the consequences that may happen, I just ran as far as I could from this awful, regretful place. 

Notes

That was my favourite poem called 'Do not go gentle into that goodnight' by Dylan Thomas. It really is amazing.
I thank all of you for all the views, comments and subs. I'm sorry I'm not really in a great mood, I'm so stressed and I feel like I'm breaking down slowly and painfully. Fuck. Sorry I'm shit.