If I died,
Would you notice?
Would you even care?
Or would it be like I'm still there
Locked up in my prison,
Doing you slave work?
Not having a life,
Not having a soul.

If I died,
Would I be swallowed up in shadows?
Never to see the light of day again?
Would the darkness
Consume me alive,
Trapping me in its
Tendrils of death and hopelessness?
Until all I am is less than
A figure of your imagination?

If I died,
Would Heaven pull me up,
Or would Hell yank me down?
Would I be happy in the clouds,
Or tormented in the lake of fire?
Would I feel sweet relief
From a life filled with pain and hate?
Or would I regret
Having left the world to soon?

If I died,
Would anyone miss me?
Would they realize I'm gone?
Or would it be like a song forgotten?
Would I occasionally cross your mind,
Like lyrics?
Would you have trouble remembering me,
Like a name of a song?

If I died,
What would I become?

As you grew older

.
.
.
.
.

You thought you was bolder

                     .
                     .
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But the world threw so much
.
.
.
.
.

and you couldn't shoulder

                     .
                     .
                     .
                     .
                    .
But I am
.
.
.
.
.
we are
                         .
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                         .
                         .
with you

It is the sword you swallowed
threatening to pierce through.
A voice you can feel
pushing you to the edge of perception
It’s seeing the absent evidence
It is being enveloped by a product
of your own doing.
And when the facade thickens
you find only one way out,
and its existence gossamer