It eats the fear, it eats the pain

I cry a lot more than I ever tell any of you. I miss my father and I can still see him laying in bed, rotting from the inside out. I have a perfect picture, in my mind, of him smiling at me in hospice. I remember seeing him in the coffin. It's been years and I should probably have gotten over it, but you've never watched someone die. I cry for him. And when I do, I know I can still feel something.
"I listen to the words he'd say, but in his voice I heard decay. A plastic face forced to portray. All the insides left cold and gray."