we were five and young,
we were alive and always sung.
that was when we were five
and then society came along slapping
us in our faces with reality, ruining our social graces. I no longer feel alive.

now we're fifteen and sad,
i'm drinking with my lad,
as i'm mentally sinking in my fears,
drowning helplessly in my tears,
barely passing classes this year,
as i hear people say, "Keep your head up dear!" As if that will help me. As if that will help me. As if that will help me.

**i want to go back to being five.
i want to feel alive again.

Missing you tastes like death,
if it had a flavour.
Lately I've been getting bad breath,
and my conscience is unstable.
I haven't been able to find a solution,
put a conclusion  to this sadness,
this madness the distance has instilled
inside me-
It hurts.
It burns.
Forces my brain to take a wrong turn,
churning up the bad thoughts
like mouthwash-
more like dirt.
Over and over-
until the mouthwash starts stinging
my gums and the dirt begins to rot my teeth.
Missing you might taste like death, however
I don't know how death tastes;
**I haven't tried it yet.

Unroll me like an ancient scripture.
Flick through my pages,
a creased-binding book.
Boring descriptions
you choose to overlook.
but in retrospect,
I've got you hooked.
Caress the frail pages
that once used to be bark,
watch out for papercuts,
my edges are sharp.
Absorbed in the middle,
you almost forget
there are 142 pages
that you've left unread-
and yet you read on,
though some pages are torn,
but what matters to you
isn't my physical form.
It's the miracles born-
those thoughts you adore,
written down with such care
that you're scared to read on...
But Alas!
Time passes so fast!
there are three pages left
but you want this to last,
so in your own mind
you'll tirelessly write-
yes, thats right,
you don't want to end this-
you'll stand up and fight.
And as you hug me tight,
and re-read me on sleepless nights,
I'll keep your thoughts safe
bound between my own pages
until our lives
entwine once again.