A white rose, a gold casket, and a field were all you'd let yourself take in.
It was the fourth of October, 2008,
And you had stopped crying.
You were surrounded by those dressed in black, you yourself wearing a nice dress and his necklace.
Your brain was on high alert and yet you were calm, almost as if nothing fazed you.
Not the smell of the ground,
Freshly dug up in the cool, hard Earth of the autumn time,
Nor the sound of your own mother crying,
Allowing the tears to flow down her cheeks while she says a few words about her husband; now widowed.
A white rose, a gold casket, and a field were all you'd let yourself see,
The rest just a blur of movement and scenery.
You sensed the touch of your uncle's hands on your shoulders,
And could hear him sniffling,
Mourning the loss of his brother.
His grip was tight, almost as if he was afraid to lose you too; almost as if you were the only thing he had left of his dearly beloved brother.
You could taste the bitterness of the words your mom had said to you the day after he died: "daddy died", those words being repeated over and over again in your mind,
An infestation of thoughts and language.
A white rose, a gold casket, and a field,
The rose you were holding in your small, fragile hands;
The rose you were gripping so tight blood started pouring from your skin as the thorn punctured your tiny little fingers;
You did not notice, you did not choose to notice.
You threw the rose onto the casket as it was being lowered six feet under.
The casket with him in it.
His hair was brushed back, his black and white suit on, and his eyes firmly shut...forever.
It's done.
He's buried.
The field he's now buried in is covered in a thick fog, similar to that surrounding your mind.
And as the car arrives to take you back home,
You can almost hear the wind whispering for you to come back and visit and although you've finally left the scene,
All you can picture are a white rose, a gold casket, and a large, foggy field.

Every now and then,
I think about you and what you're going through.
You're the one that's always there for me,
Someone that understands and has been through a lot,
Quite like myself.
But honestly honey,
Tears stream down my own face when thinking about your problems.
You're such a sweet little girl,
Who has such a big world to take on,
But you're fighting.
Every scar,
Every breakdown,
Each and every hurt,
Those are battle wounds,
And I have faith you'll win the war.
I can't imagine the pain you're feeling,
yet I can from experience,
And that is the reason I feel so much for you.
I know what it's like to be in fear of losing someone close to you,
A parent, a father,
Someone who loves you unconditionally.
To try and savour your memories with him,
To cry yourself to sleep at night knowing he might not make it through the next couple of years.
I know what it's like to pour your happiness into someone,
That might not always be there,
Might not always show they care,
Whether it's a lover, a family member, or friend,
All you want is to feel like you're wanted,
Like you're loved and cared for.
I know what it's like to feel like the world is crashing down on you,
And sometimes it becomes too much.
Sometimes you just want it all to stop,
The stress, anxiety, depression, and life in general,
But again,
I believe in you,
And I believe you'll make it through.
Seeing you this way tears me apart and sends sobs racking through my body,
Because nobody should feel this hurt.
Nobody should be in so much pain,
Nobody should feel this alone.
Baby I need you to know that I'm there for you,
And I may not be much help,
But I have a shoulder you can cry on and the ability to give you a great bear hug.
I understand what you're going through,
As I have gone through (am going through) the same.
Please baby,
Keep your head up and stay strong.
I don't know what I'd do if I lost you.
I'm there; I'm always there.

What make you alive, you ask.
Answer:
Despite what scientists say,
What logic says,
It is not the organs or your,
Pulsating heart,
That makes you truly alive.
What brings life to a person,
Are their feelings,
Their emotions, memories, and dreams.
Feelings of lust and misery and jealousy,
And anything else one might encounter.
How they have lived,
What they have done,
And what they remember.
How vivid their dreams are and if they dream at all.
No, the heart and the body does not play,
A part in sincere living,
Unless the heart is capable of feeling.
Feeling is living,
And what is a person,
Without being able to truly live.
You are not fully alive if you're not truly living.

Get in touch,
With your inner dark fantasies.
Embrace the wild,
Embrace the crazy,
The insanity that is offered,
As an opportunity,
Whilst living a life,
As free and wondrous as this.
Make sparks fly,
And fires ignite.
Dance all night long,
And sing at the top of your lungs,
As soon as you wake up.
Run in the woods,
And let your sick laughter,
Be carried throughout,
The darkness engulfing the trees.
Open your heart,
As much as possible,
And get high off of love.
******* high driving you mad,
But somewhat brightening your eyes,
And making your dark fantasies,
As innocent as possible.