Dysfunctional Departures

My dad is dead. I'm sad and angry and still I want to laugh and make up a silly clapping rhyme. I need to write about his death. I need to write about his life. But instead I escape. Acting out, doing virtually anything sober to not feel my feelings. I want to run but he's still dead. I want to fight. Still dead. I want to dive into self pity. Yup. Dead dad still dead. Woah. All those people grieving dead parents were not just wooses.