I could have died if they didn't find me in time.
If I didn't cry so loud.
If I didn't tell them how many.
If they didn't call.
If I didn't get in the car.
If I didn't drink that black stuff.
If I didn't want to disrupt what I started.

But I did disrupt.
I did drink the black stuff.
I did get in the car.
They did call.
I did tell them how many.
I did cry so loud.

I didn't die.
And I truthfully wish I had some nights.

I won't let them tell me life is worth living because
Suffering isn't worth living for.

What if this isn't real
and we are all just sleeping
with interconnected dreams
and dying is like waking up
one by one
and heaven is like opening your eyes
for the very first time
and everyone is there
and we do it again

They waited in silence,
No questions they asked.
No demand to be noticed,
Though deadline neared fast.

They sat in quiet patience,
At attention they snoozed.
Hoping time would tick on,
When perchance they'll be used.

There are those who oft pray,
For these precious pearls rare.
Yet others throw reckless,
Lay 'em to waste with no care.

So when completing an essay,
With goals succinctly met,
Muse on this ode to the few,
Unused words of word limit.

"You think I don't understand darkness?"
I know you do.
And it's hard for you.
Being rainbow in a world so colorless.
Pumping life into a heart that's bloodless.
Taking the hit even though you were faultless.
Filling yourself up to combat the emptiness.
you were patient; embraced it.
Carried the weight on your shoulders like it was painless.

I know you think we couldn't care less.
But you're wrong; we all know we are blessed.
Even when you’re not at your best, you impress.
Because when they cover you in blankets you still fluoresce.
Never giving up; your beliefs you never second-guess.
Nevertheless you feel the pressure, you feel the stress.
But you inspire me because despite it all, you always find a way
to defeat the darkness.

Being the black sheep of the family
Is all well and good until winter comes.
The grass is frozen, food is scarce
And those stomachs don't stop rumbling,
Ever wailing to be appeased,
Unaware and uncaring to the icy conditions.
They're not monsters, no.
They huddle together for warmth;
Snow dusting their coarse wool
As they stand, determined to make it through the cold.
But their stomachs scream like dying beasts,
And the ache is so prevalent in their empty bellies.
No fat to chew on, time passes by so slowly,
And that black sheep is starting to look like the odd one out.
It doesn't look like food,
But it does seem just enough like an other
To smother any guilt that may linger
At the bottom of a recently-assuaged hunger.
They're not monsters, no,
Because the black sheep was never one of them.