The Bleeding Soul

I carry with me the muffled voice 
of a drowning man, 
His voice grates my soul, 
I often see his flailing arms, 
as he bobs on the surface of water, 
trying to catch some breaths
I will attend his funeral, lay a wreath
and try to muffle the sound of guilt
I'll merge my own guilt with 
with the fake eulogies 
I hope they'll cancel mine out 
because I wouldn't survive an eternity 
of grating guilt 
and his muffled voice 
I have enough of everything already