Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies:
Pray be silent and not stir
Th’ easy earth that covers her.

Sometimes I talk about you like you're away on a trip and you're coming back.
Throwing you into casual conversations as if the people I was conversing with felt everything you make me feel.
Pretending they understand the depths of my heart
and how deep you've fallen into it.

But not even I understand the intensity that is you.

Like gravity you pull me back and hold me down.
Trapping me in an illusion of a story never told and never to be told
but forever read in my head.
A never ending dialogue between love and loss, let go and hold on.

A love story.

A tragically beautiful love story.

If I wrote suicide note...
It wouldn't be a love letter
If I wrote a suicide note
Would you be in it
Would it sadden your conviction
Would you be my hopeful light that made me leave with a smile
If you read the note
Would tear ducts flow
Would you caring make a difference
Woul I be pushed aside or would it be more delibrate
If I wrote a suicide note
Do you think I would end it
Would life crush me to the point
Thyat I would morlly want to end it
When you read it and the truth spilled out
Could it make or brake your attention
My hateful restitution
My loving resolution
What would be the reason
Today or tomorrow
If you wrote a suicide note
Would i be in it or make the difference





Have you ever thought every consequential second me just exsisting or emotions thick as resin
Would you cry knowing I did. The guilt would it **** you that I lived and you weren't around to care or do anything about it. If you were there and tried as hard as you could and love me with warmth and not responsibility as I would you. I left it in the note as my best and worst

My days ago
are piled
with excess.

My days ahead,
clouded
with letting
go.

This day today,
empty
as the bottle
laying next
to me.

And there's
no way
to grow
young
again.

Because who in
their right mind would
ever want to be
an open book,
a worthless shell,
a tag-along?
Who would ever
want to be weaker than
they seem, not as good as
they appear, so more utterly
unnecessary than their friends
seem to think? Why
would anyone ever want
to battle demons long dead, cry
into the night, jump
at every stranger
that gets angry, have
skin that aches
to be destroyed? Why
would anyone
ever want
to be me?