I’ve been dead only an hour
And yet my body feels so cold
My soul has left this world so sour
With no one’s hand for me to hold

I’ve been dead for just one day,
Yesterday my world fell flat.
Honestly, I died a year beforehand,
But now you’ll never know that.

I think I died the day you left
And in the time that followed so
Back in March, the month of luck
I think I died a year ago

And here I stay, resting at last
Finally, I’m free to roam
My heart is stone, my eyes are glass
Truly now just skin and bone

you start to see things a lot differently once you set an expiration date on yourself.
there's beauty in the small things; the feel of warm dirt beneath bare feet, the gentle clucking of chickens, the brush of a cat's whiskers against your cheek. you suddenly want to watch every sunrise and sunset, to count every star, to take long walks through nature. you eat what you want and no longer care what people think because it doesn't matter, you will be dead in five days and no one will remember your name.
you are now nothing but a faceless silhouette, and no one cares enough to remember the little moments but you collect them like a child collecting seashells. you treasure every glance and exchanged word and half smile sent your way. you settle for the bare minimum because that's all you have ever received and will ever receive.
you find optimism in the dark moments; you **** a mosquito only to lay beside its crumpled body and watch a tiny ant drag it away, carrying three times its weight and you are jealous. you are jealous because you can't even handle yourself, and you are not strong enough for this world, not smart enough to figure out what you're supposed to do with your silly little life. you tip your chin back to the sky and wonder if the sun ever loved the moon, if the rose ever loved the daisy, if anyone could ever love you, and you're afraid that you'll never know.
but the fear within us is all the hope we are afraid to hope for. if you are not afraid, then you have no hope, and what are you then? free to die in silence and gray ashes and dead flowers from people who stopped coming to visit you long ago?
how could the sun love the moon, how could the rose love the daisy? if we are only fit to love those within our standards, then what is love really? chosen? picked at random? or is it a passion, a longing, a scrap of a song sung to a star?
and then comes the reality, that we are finite beings, and it doesn't matter if the rose and the daisy got their happily ever after, and it doesn't matter if the sun loved the moon because the moon loves you and the stars welcome you with open arms and yet you still cower on this pathetic earth, and it begs the question,

are you afraid to fly?

i saw my sister yesterday
and considered the idea that it could be the last time
considered it when we were saying goodbye
and i hugged her maybe a little too tight
i watched the sunset yesterday
when i was driving home
and something in me said, "don't go"
"there's more to this life than you'll ever know"
i thought my mind was made up
but as my life ticks lower
and time moves slower
and i'm just not sure anymore
i think that maybe i've found
something worth waiting for
someone worth living for

on sunday, i gave away my guitar
and i didn't expect it to be so hard
didn't expect it to crumble my heart
to know i will never feel those strings again
close my eyes and move my hands
never tune the thing until 2 AM
nathan, please take good care of it
because i love that guitar, but i'm scared to admit
scared that you'll ask again why i quit
scared that you won't keep your promise

six days left to live
and it's getting hard to find
anything left to give
anything left inside
there is no life in these hollow bones
no place i can call my home
i am alone
i am alone