I'm sorry for lying,
I'm sorry for trying to convince you I wasn't dying,
I'm sorry for letting my depression get so bad that my smiles blinded your eyes from mine to see I was crying.

Crying for peace.
Crying for silence.
Crying and wailing on the floor of my mind-dungeon trying to hide the marks of violence.

These scars on my soul tell a story,
These stars up above get the glory.

Because they listened as I poured my sorrows on them,
The dark sky eventually became my best friend,
The cold nights would wrapped me in their arms and then,
I'll become numb to fact that I'm near to my end.
I'm sorry again.

There's so much I need you to hear,
But now when I look at your photographs
I gaze and stare,
Because you're not here.
You're there.
Up and away past the cumulonimbus clouds.
In a place where only the angels go;
A place with a vast population but no crowds.
A place where you walk on gold,
Live in mansions,
Never get old.
No racism, no religion,
No wars, no more scars,
No politics, no need for expensive cars.
A place where you do your gardening with stars;
Your footstool is Mars.
The sun I'm accustomed to isn't in your sky,
But I've been wondering-
Does heaven have WiFi?