Have the windows always been closed?
The blinds, I mean?
What's the point of a window with no light?
The sun, I mean?

The joy is perhaps what I really meant.
Where is the joy?

Why aren't we looking out our windows?
What's so awful we refuse joy?
Simple, simple joy.

A bird leaving its tree.
The breeze pushing the pollen.
Sounds of life and love and laughter and fear.

Oh there it is.
It didn't take very long to remember.

That's why the blinds are closed.
That's why the windows will never be open again.

I bought you flowers today just to throw them away.

I never had a goal or dream
Just a feeling I chase
A feeling that gets looked over so often
Yet it's used in everyday conversation
It's such an easy way to be good
To be good, laughable
That feeling, those words
They'll never make you good
"Thank You"
So polite
"Thank You. Come again."
Required
"Don't forget to say Thank You"
Forgettable

I am no longer thankful
I have become the thankless
Begging for gratitude in my own eyes

"I'm keeping it together so my parents won't have to sit in a funeral asking what they did wrong..."

There would be a thought for me
There would be tears
But my death would become the centerpiece of a narcissistic feast
To be put on display for parties and newcomers
A cornucopia of despair
Drinking up the tears as a vampire fiend
Another story to be embellished
Another unique notch in a leather belt that's fallen apart
Our family is a legacy of stories
How could I not become one?

My stomach felt like a pit today then I remembered..

It's your birthday.

But you'll always be 24.