It’s most apparent to me now more than ever
That Death is always busy
He comes in many different forms
Sometimes he’s a surprise, sneaking his way into life and striking when you’re least prepared
Sometimes he gives you a choice, leaving time to reflect but also the guilt of playing god when you’re not ready
It’s hard to accept, and even harder to see in the ones you love
But it’s important to remember that Death cowers in the face of Life
The memories that you make, the emotions you share prevent Him from taking everything
As long as you keep them in your mind and your hearts, Death hasn’t won
And everyone else is here to help you forget the rest

I don’t want to live as a loner
So I become an ***** donor
Words compose my heart
I develop into art
That I impart
To those looking for blood
And those looking for love
While both push me in mud
Until my insides are no more
Through the divide I soar
To implore for the end of war
But the world keeps turning
Like the people lying on gurneys
Who’s depression has them hurt me
So I try to give them my eyes
To keep them alive
But much to my surprise
They say they want to die
When the whole point is to survive
So I offer them my legs
To help move them ahead
But they just lie in bed
Wishing they were dead
So I offer my exhausted lungs
To help them breathe
To climb the ladder’s rungs
So they’ll be set free
But they don’t want my disease
And prefer to wither in the breeze
On a time killing spree
Lamenting the life they lead
To me it’s kind of funny
If I offered drugs or money
They’d be jumping like bunnies
But instead they hunt me
For telling them what they don’t want to hear
That they’re the driver and they must steer
So I offer them my ears
That ignore their fears
But since it’s not what they want
They claim I tease and taunt
Saying I’m giving them lip
Without the quips
Just the whip
In my insensitive grip
But I’m trying to give away my brain
To block the reality show refrain
That numbs their pain
Making them empty and hollow
My shell of a body will soon follow

Why is it that my emotions are so easily described in the words of others?
Can I not rely on myself to relate to my own consciousness?
Or is it more that I adapt more kindly to the feelings of others, rather than facing what is truly mine?