She is the life,
He is the death.
She was mistreated,
He held no breath.
She hoped to end,
He fought to stay.
She kissed him once—
He rose,
She slipped away.

I don't expect you
to understand.
I try to explain
But you say
that I'm vain

Thinking of myself
all of the time

I'm stuck in my
own head
Screaming
Crying

I know you'll never
Understand...

I know no one will come to my funeral.
It doesn’t feel like fear—
it feels real.

I might be the funny guy
who made others smile,
but when I died,
still… everyone smiled.

A few sighs scattered in the wind,
but even my mother
didn’t cry.

Maybe I was just a noise
that filled their quiet for a while.
A punchline
with no setup,
a memory they’ll blur—
not miss.
Even dismiss.

I left pieces of myself
in their laughter,
but no one noticed:
the funny guy
was a fighter.

Yes—
they call me a writer.