I am words
I am notes
I am castles
I am moats
Who am I?
I can’t seem to die
There are parts of me
No one else can see
One for creativity
One for tragedy
One for the songs I sing
One for everything

With green grass
And blue sky
Under yellow sun
As the birds shaped like w’s fly so high

It's all just a fairytale
A child’s painting brought to life
But it’s all just a fairytale
A world without pain or strife

A house with four windows
A door with a circle for a ****
Doesn’t it make your eyes water?
Doesn’t it make you cry and sob?

For what is a mother without a child?
What is a father without a small hand to hold tight?
What is a music box without a lullaby?
What is a bedtime story without a goodnight?

A tomb devoid of joy
The music box starts to play
There is no one left here
A child was lost that day

Oh god, it's all gone wrong.

What have I done?
What can I do?
Oh god, where are you?
Do I cry?
Do I pray?

I don't know what to say.
Am I lost?
Out of time?
Have I finally reached the end of the line?

It's done now, it's over.
It's gone, I'm through.
Is this all that's left of me and you?

Can I simply walk away, knowing that it's all gone gray?

What do I say?

How do I say it was an accident without crying or getting mad?
Cause ******* all, I'm angry!
So angry and so sad.
How I do speak before you and tell you all these things?

All these stories
All these memories
All these lifetimes
All these songs
He'll never get to sing

How do I tell you he was perfect?
Cause he wasn't.

And how do we sit here and say that he was?
Isn't that dishonoring him and his cause?

But no.

We sit here and tell these lies
to make ourselves feel like we weren’t the bad guys
But I sit here as his friend and I tell you
you were wrong.
He hated all of you.
And now he's gone.

He wouldn't want us to be sad.
He'd say, go on, have a party!
He wouldn't want us to cry.

He'd say go on without me.
He wouldn’t have wanted this.
But how could any of you have known that?
He never told you.

So are you bad parents, bad teachers, and bad friends?
For never noticing a child at his wit's end?
No, you're not.

But was I?
Because he told me, and I never batted an eye.

I thought he was joking.
Just having some fun.
Now the jokes not funny.
And it's over for everyone.

So, was it his fault?
Was it yours, was it mine?
I guess we'll never know.

All I know is that he was my friend,
and I wish that he didn’t have to go.

So I sit here, saying sorry, for something I don't believe.
Cause I know him.
I knew him.
Better than any of you.
He wore so many long sleeves.
The world outside his window was incredible to him.
He loved it, and he hated it,
and he called it such a sin.

So now we sit here.
It's not over, but we’d like to think it is.
You'll go home and watch a movie,
maybe cuddle up with friends.

We’d like to think it's over.
We’d like to put it away, but some of us don't have that luxury.
Some of us have to stay.

So tell me.
Who was he? Who is he? Did you know?
Were you his friends and family, or strangers?
We don’t know.

Do you know what it’s like,
to finally have your life the way you want it
just to have it torn from your fingers as you scream and cry for help?

What does my life matter to you?
Love, loss, it’s all part of life they say
Why am I in black and blue, red tainting my clothes?
Why can I not dwell in the yellow and light as she did?
Why did he stay in the dark, just as I have?
Can I leave the dark?

What am I supposed to say to his family?
What am I supposed to say to them all?
I can’t let go, and I can’t move on.
And neither should you.

So why do you?
Why do you bury him away and pretend that none of his faults existed?
The boy I knew wasn’t a saint!
Far from it!
He was a messed up, depressed, annoying little *******!
And he was my friend!
I can’t just say goodbye after that.

He is the end of her.
He is her friend!
What friend lies?
All of them?
Some of them?
None of them?

She is a punching bag?
She is not.
She does not know.

But now?

Now I look back.
And I see the light.
I see the light, and I know the truth.
But I will never know one thing.

Why?

No matter.
I am here, I am now.
I am not happy, but I am not sad.
I am here. I am now.

And that’s what matters.

I have spent so many years like everyone else's therapist
and now I want to share
but I am so afraid of doing the same to them
I refuse to be a burden for them to bear

there is a girl in a garden
who sits under a dying tree
sometimes I look out the window
and she waves or smiles at me

frost paints over the window
cobwebs fill the room
and still the girl in the garden
sweeps away the gloom

I've never spoken to the girl in the garden
I couldn't if I tried
but her smile is a sight to see
even if she's long since died