Death has to be calling.
I feel everything falling.
Just burning
and crashing
and dying all around

A flower would wither
if I stared close enough.
And I knew life to be hard
but not this ******* tough...

What are you to me?
Just a couple great things.
When pictures of you line my very heart strings,
it leaves me a couple great things to say.
So, what are you to me?
Besides the very best part of all my days?

You're a lighthouse to me.
When the tide's just out to get me, and
the sky's just too dark to see.
You make me feel like I could swim across the world
and of course I would try it, for you,
my girl.
My love.
My princess.
My heart,
and my soul.
You don't just hug me, you swallow me whole.

And that green-brown inside your gorgeous eyes?
Above the pink lips that surround your smile.

*They take me to places I've never been.

The walls flicker and glow
from a candle that you already know.

You’ve already seen it, its inside and out;
you got past its fears and conquered its doubts.

You’ve already held it, so close and so tightly,
and you’re the only one who could make it burn so brightly.

But baby, can’t you see?
My heart is the only thing that this candle could be...
and you light it up without the slightest effort,
so won’t you spend tonight with me?

What if I told you I had one day to live?
Would you cry on my chest where my dying heart is?

Could you stand by my side til the very last minute?
Would you hold onto my hand, and put your heart in it?

Would you just watch me cry and let The Fray sing?
Or could you just pick me up and help heal my wings?

Would you put all the jokes down, like me in this letter?
Would you stop to watch our castle burn?
Or make the truth feel better?

Would you reminisce on our memories like I’m doing right now?
Would you start to wonder why, and wonder how:

This life we’d live,
my best, my closest friend,
every minute we’d spend
and message we’d send,
would all come to the end?

Would you let it all fade?
Our love, and all the memories we made?
Could you rest your head on my shaking shoulder blade,
to kiss me on the cheek where my shaking smile frayed?

Don’t worry, this is all just a long “what if”.
It’s just written in hieroglyphs.

Here’s one thing I pray you understand,
For which I give my word, as a young man:

If I had one last day I would spend it with you,
and I pray for this to be the way you feel back about me too

Scream,
so nobody can sense that you’re dying.
Just scream,
so nobody can see that you’re crying.
Scream inside your head,
or out loud,
into the sheets upon your bed.
Soon enough you could be dead,
because your hands shake,
and you grab the knife from the floor.
Your knees continue to ache,
and getting up is always the hardest.

Hell, you were never an artist.
But while you’re down, you draw line after line,
draw an horrifying art that hurts less every time.

Look what’s happened to your arm;
another poor victim of your own self-harm.
It goes on the list that stretches to the floor,
next to your scarred ankles and past your cut-up hips.
You never see this list when you ask the knife for more,
maybe its from the teary eyes that come when your emotions dip.

But this pain washes out with blood,
and it’s swallowed in a shot.
It’s sometimes burning on a cigar you never bought.

All these things to keep the pain away,
helping you escape when your depression comes to play.

This process always hurts, and it could come any other day.
You beg and cry to live any other way.
You’re a snake that swallowed it’s own tail because it couldn’t take its life,
and because it was too late to dodge the drink and the god-forsaken knife.
Too late to stop worshipping a lighter’s spark,
Too late to purify its inner voids
or britghten up the dark.

There’s smoke in your lungs,
Blood has dripped onto the floor,
The beer cans are all crushed up,
There’s one knife, and one closed door.