I want to write but I don’t know what about,
“Write about her” my head will shout,
But it’s not fair to you,
It’s not your fault I feel so blue,
All I can think is “I love you” and that’s how I know it’s true.

I want to write about the flowers and trees,
And the sun kissed scenes
That I see in front of my grey face,
I want to find a place
That I can crawl into for a safety base.

I want to write about the state of the world,
Where everyone who is sad or lonely is hurled
To the back of everyone’s head,
And they have the audacity to have said,
“How can someone yearn for the silence of being dead?”

I want to write but I’m in a place that reminds me only of sorrow
Taking these random pills ignoring the knowledge that this will only borrow
The happiness that I was meant to feel tomorrow.

And so I’ll write about how I will always feel like this,
Just a ghost everyone can see,
An empty shadow that takes the form of me.

He wraps his ash covered, yellowed fingers around its neck and squeezes,
He doesn’t know what he’s doing yet,
But he can’t stop.

“I can smell the cigarette on your clothes” it gasps,
“Do you really need that to feel happy?”

“Why are your pupils so dilated, boy?”
“Do you really need that to feel happy?”

“I can smell the drink on your breath, boy”
“Do you really need that to feel happy?”

As he hold tighter around happiness’s neck,

He doesn’t know what he’s doing,
The face shifts and shakes violently,
His own face now smiles back,
“You’ve killed your happiness again”
It whispers, on its final breath,
Save me.