When I picture my own funeral,
I see a young person in a box.
She is never old.
And though I am sure my family is there,
I forget to paint them in.
I see other young people
Sad, but mostly occupied
By whispering of my newly exposed secrets.
And the people I truly care about,
The only ones with nice things to say--
Simeon the ice cream man,
Ronny the busker,
Adam the hobo,
Maria the dream and Maria the ghost,
Hoodie Man the hero,
And Chris the ****** addict,
Are nowhere to be found,
For how could they have heard the news?
And a few years later,
When they realize I have not made an appearance
In quite some time
They will wonder what happened
To that girl they called solitude
And smile because they can only assume
That most likely I finally left the country
To follow my dream
And try to be happy.
And they will live the rest of their lives
Completely unaware
That my grave longs to be pressed on
By their feet
And my flowers watered
By their tears.

Does it hurt more to know that you exist,
As a moment passed, or chance I missed?
Than it would to never fall under your gaze,
Or feel your light upon the coldest days?
Last night, I dreamed you never knew me,
Like a ghost, you walked straight through me,
Tonight, I’ll let that nightmare overtake me,
For fear your softest touch might break me,
So paint me as a summer’s breeze, a rose,
That never dies, but never grows,
Leave me in your yard to peel and rust,
Or on a shelf with keys and dust,
Some tattered memory, your something blue,
Anything that you might hold on to,
Because no victory, no grand success,
Would be worth it if you thought me less,
I’ve seen my best, in both peace and war,
But I don’t yearn for those days anymore,
Because no honor bestowed could ever eclipse,
The chance to be a single smile upon your lips.

Today, oh today, sick with rust and decay,
The clogged streets out of town that only got in your way.
Nightingale sing-song, sing cool summer nights,
Sing seashell-string houses, please turn out the lights.
We’ll be grown-ups grown up still wondering what we will be,
She said she won’t trust anyone over 30, only Jesus and me.
And I wait and I pace down the wall by the fence,
Nervous with 3am loneliness, ramshackle suspense.
Are there still windows worth watching, back dust country roads,
Some lost place love lingers, bubbles up and explodes?
You were here, I was there, are we anywhere still?
Be my sweetest regret, I’ll be your very first ****.
And today, just today, weak with strength, far away,
Swollen with promises of forever, and no intention to stay.

I saw a man.  An open book,
    He looked me in the eye;
And I could see within his look
    His great desire to die.
Yet, as I killed him, he forsook
    His wish, and screamed out, "WHY?!"
Perhaps it was all the time it took
    To cook him whole in lye.

O.O