I love the way,
He says goodnight,
Like there's no such thing,
As goodbye,
He drives me wild,
With his clarity and perception,
It's in the way,
He clouds my direction,
And takes control,
So effortlessly,
He's exactly who,
I wanted him to be

I spend my days,
Staring out windows,
At effortless blue sky,
And the nights,
Blinking up,
At blatant, white ceilings,
Through the darkness,
Just waiting,
For it to be over

I stare at the girl,
In the mirror,
I wonder why she cries,
So often,
And where the brightness,
That was once in her eyes,
Has gone,
She asks me why,
These things keep happening,
She can't comprehend,
Why she feels so alone,

This isn't what she wanted

Your voice,
Motions a collosal shift,
From within me,
The words make changes,
Between us,
And I dream,
Of summer sun,
In your eyes,
As we collide

Wringing my hands,
As I walk down the hall,
Supressing the nausea,
My nails dig deep,
Through my soft wrists,
As I reach his door,
I hold my breath,
My heart pounds dangerously,
When I see him,
Surrounded by crisp white pillows,
And blue sheets,
He looks dead,
My mind screams,
I long to rip down the walls,
He murmurs,
Indeciferable words,
His voice rusty and unused,
I'm so scared,
Almost too scared to embrace him,
I think he might break,
The adults mummble,
Attempting to conceal,
The devestating topic of conversation,
Plans, decisions,
So many to be made,
I stifle the urge to cry,
We are all so empty,
And he is dying

Birds with wings,
They all have wings,
Some soar above the clouds,
Through the gloden rays,
Of the burning sun,
But not all are so blessed,
Others are shot down,
By a satisfying bang,
From the barrel of a loaded gun,
Pointed and aimed at feather planes,
Some are born,
Incapable of flight,
Earth-bound and dreaming,
Of days filled with sky,
Yet the saddest,
Of flightless birds,
Are those who flew,
And woke with broken wings