I find it scary to write a poem,
because what if people don’t like it?
Or worse — what if they do,
and it means they’re broken too?

Does it mean they also can’t find
peace and treasure in their mind?
Does it mean they feel the same,
so my pain is not a claim?

The fear, the loss, the pain and everything
If its not mine does it leave me as nothing?

The stars were not to blame
Nor the ocean between us
Or even that dreadful place
We used to call home

It was only you and me
Always a little too wrong
And maybe just a little
Too late

You said the greatest thing i could do is die,
So i wrote you a letter
Saying goodbye.

It looked like a love letter,
And for you it was,
I tried to make your life better,
Getting rid of all of my flaws
By getting rid of myself.

I said i'll go to hell,
But it's okay cuz i made life heaven for you.
However, you started crying,
Saying you regret your words,
And that you didn't want me dying.

It's too late.