Do you ever wake up at 1am and ask yourself
“Why do they care?”
“Why should they care?”

Why do they listen
To things I say?
Constant rambling—
Everyday.

Why do they ask
‘Bout the tears that fall?
It’s “pick me” nature
After all.

Why do they care
If I shine or rain?
Always too much
Always a pain.

Why do they care
When my hands start to shake?
When my voice cracks,
When I bend til I break?

Why do they search
When I vanish, withdraw?
Worried voices calling
Frozen walls thaw

Do you ever wake up at 1am and ask yourself
“Do they really care?”

And suddenly I’m at your funeral                                              
                                                                ­   again. Your body is

          bloodied, laying in the little, black, box.        
  
                                                             ­  Your face is marred.

Or maybe it’s my tears                                                            ­              
                                                  ­     that make me                                    
                forget
   ­                                                                 ­                        how you look(ed)
              You shouldn’t be there.               I won’t be there.
                                              Unless you call for me.         But
                                                             ­                 dead people don’t speak.

The call has fallen silent                    
                               My pen must rest
I will return          
                     Perhaps later