There was a time I loved a flower so much,
so much - instead of picking it, I left it alone.
I left it, I knew that if it felt my touch,
It would die. I wouldn't be able to let it grow,

I'm not good at watering it,
I forget why it's colourless,
and I watch it die, bit by bit,
and wonder if I'm the cause of this.

It dies, but I can't help but admire,
this beautiful flower, in all it's forms,
I don't care for it, the situation is dire,
I do nothing but watch as it deforms.

My darling flower, it bloomed in my direction,
I thought it happened to bloom, not for me.
I knew I wasn't able to show the affection,
The affection this flower wants, to be free,

It bloomed, showing me it's finest petals,
but my darling flower, didn't need me anymore.
It lives another way, and it settles,
My feet hit the floor, as I realise I'm rotten to the core.

Not my darling flower, never so,
but me, I'm the one with all the woe,
I killed my flower, after it did so much,
At the end, I knew it would've died to my touch.

You protect this behaviour of his,
End up letting us suffer like this,
Tears streaming down my swollen cheeks,
I vow to not let the anger unleash.

I know this script by heart,
and it's tearing me apart.
"Don't cry, that's what babies do."
but at the end of the day, is that really true?

My fear of my own blood, it's rational,
Flinch when you attack, it's traditional.
I look into your eyes, see something new,
not the man I thought I knew, not a clue.

On the other hand, she's too kind,
To everyone, who she thinks is by her side,
I look down to the ground, observe every trace,
Not able to look up at her or even look at her face,

Years of bottled up emotions,
I finally lash out, it clashes like an ocean,
Everyone turns their heads to look at me,
The same way I did to you, I'm not the girl they see.

The pieces shattered, scattered apart,
I fit them all together again, just like one,
the picture looks bigger, not what you'd expect.
This is way bigger than my heart,
Some pieces weren't here.. there were none.
The extra pieces I selected,
are pieces from your end, I collected.

I* will die your daughter,
I will eventually be gone,
you might laugh, or cry tears,
you will wake up at dawn,
and find that your worst fears,
have inevitably come to life.

I will die your daughter.
Convinced I'm destined to decease,
as your daughter, not my own lead,
you'll be glad to finally have your peace,
The tear-stained letter? That's all you need.

I will die your daughter,
I won't run from my problems,
I won't fight them back either,
I won't rise to stardom,
This is my last breather.

I will die your daughter,
You may love me as your family,
but you don't love me as a person.
Knowing that hurts much more frantically,
as you don't even notice when I worsen.

I will die your daughter,
I have your blood bestowed upon,
But you've never considered me as one,
I don't want you to care when I'm gone,
Just go out and forget about me, have fun.

At the end of the day, it's not beneath you,
and trust me, it hurts me too.
But please remember me anyway,
even though you're the reason I couldn't stay.

People used to say you can see someone's story,
Just by looking deep into their eyes, their soul.
I never understood what that meant, not really.
Until that one day, I ended up seeing it for myself.

That deep aura, in those gorgeous ocean eyes.
Orbs anyone would give anything just for a glimpse.
Nobody realised, or they didn't bother to see the reality,
That girl was drowning in her own gorgeous ocean eyes.

I saw the light in his eyes vanish,
that gentle curiosity I touched upon, banished.
Turning colder, distant, until ashen of a memory remained.
Until I was alone, trapped, and in this world, I was chained.

I finally looked deep, really deep.
Not just in others, in me too.
And oh, don't their eyes weep,
to be seen, and trying to pull through.

I understood now, I saw their stories, deep within.
I glanced deep into their eyes, memorising every piece of their souls.
I truly understood what the life in people's eyes meant.
They say what words can't.

I understood while his eyes brightened,
free at last, beyond this world.
But mine dimmed, bound to the silence he left,
Unable to live without the first light that found me.

When death finds you,
May it find you alive.
Not hollow, or dead inside,
Burnt to ash all sad and blue.

"If it does, then I wouldn't want to die."
I was born dead, not knowing how to live.
Maybe I shall learn how not to cry,
appreciate life, learn to forgive.

Maybe sometimes it's okay,
so death can feel like a welcomed guest too,
We see it as the doorway to doomsday,
But perchance we grew with that darkened hue?

We aren't living, just merely existing,
Stagnating even like trees,
Stuck to the roots we grew from.
Things we enjoyed, now just drifting
away from. And I beg with "Please,"
"Oh, how I wish I weren't so glum."

People may die thrice in their lives,
Once literally, once in memory.
once in soul, living, but not alive.

The constant feeling of dread,
I look around me, and see nothing but tears shed.
Everyone tells me, people's tears will ricochet!
But what if, I just can't bring myself to stay?

The voices in my head do nothing but nag,
and for a while those voices helped me drag
my stay on Earth, along with the suffer.
My therapist says, "It's life making you tougher!"

I'm done, I finally say. Done with it.
It's midnight, my life is draining, bit by bit,
I can see myself getting hurt,
but I don't feel a thing under the dirt of my shirt.

My breathing begins to slow,
I wait until I'm able to go,
to go to the other side,
thinking of the future I could've had,
maybe as a bride?

I begin to think, "Maybe it could have gotten better?"
With my last ounce of strength, I eye the letters,
the letters that they'll find tomorrow morning,
Their dreadful morning of mourning,

That morning would be my first,
I was the only one who knew my worst,
Maybe I shouldn't have died just yet,
I should've let them see my silhouette,

My silhouette, at least one last time,
My mother, wondering why I said nothing,
My father, angry at himself, eyes puffing,
My brother, confused, he'd thought I was ok,
Even my cousin, who felt nothing but betray,
she thought we'd always stay.

It gets ruined by what it was made,
It becomes what it was ruined by,
the abused being forced to change its form,
becoming the abuser thinking it's the norm.

It's born in warmth, experiencing love.
It dies in the cold, broken and alone.
It thinks it's found warmth in someone else,
but really, it's just melting all over again.

That someone else doesn't care what comes of the ice,
so long as they keep tasting good for someone else's taste,
To them, the ice died as soon as they entered,
That soda will always remain self-centred.

The ice wishes it could go back to it's youth,
when it was happier and living it's truth,
not covered in someone else's toxicity,
and watch as they begin to act,
differently.