We're all thinking about you
"Hoping you'll get better is only wishful thinking."
Dad says, but I know that he's dealing with it in his own way

I bid you farewell, hope for you the best
in all that you endeavor, in all that puts you to the test.
I need for you to understand why I'm leaving, why I've gone away from the rest.
Perhaps someday, I'll visit you in a dream
There I'll say what I can't today.

The water so cold
The current so strong
I'm sorry that I couldn't swim against it.

Life decays and molds.
I become acquainted with death,
Sorrow felt no more.

If day were like night
With all anguish out of sight
I may just fight life

Red is the color,
It runs deep within our souls
Anguish it beholds.

There, awake I lay.
No sleep, my mind runs astray.
Go to sleep! they say.

Into that dark silence of thy white night.
I walk alone, amazed by the sight.
The falling snow flakes kiss my cheek, sharp like a knife.
And I, in that moment realize that life, will be, alright.

I walk alone, amused by the sight.
The pure white scenery distracts my want to give up life's fight.
And I, in that moment realize that life, will be, alright.
Because confusion melts away, an inside, I ignite.

Pure and white is the scenery that distracts me from life.
Cold and bitter, devoid of strife.
Confusion melts away, an inside, I ignite.
Revealing inner feelings that reach new heights.

Cold and bitter, devoid of strife.
The falling snow kiss my cheek, sharp like a knife.
Revealing inner feelings that reach new heights.
Into the dark silence of thy Cold night

In moments like these
we like to think life's a breeze
It puts us at ease.

Need to hide my face
Can not explain this feeling
Defeat, and disgrace.

For all these years I've not been here
because I have a chronic fear
that being in the present tense
would strip me of my last defense
against the terror known as "life,"
which I have found to be too rife
with anguish, heartbreak and despair
for any feeling soul to bear.
Thus I have kept myself apart,
pretended that I have no heart,
avoided being too awake,
and searched for ways that I could fake
a pseudo-personality
concealed in much banality
to deftly substitute in lieu
of really being here with you.
I've gotten very good at this,
and only dimly do I miss
the warmth that other people feel
who have the courage to be real.
I think my way of life is best,
and so I make this firm request:
Don't wake me up, don't make me see
my triumph is a tragedy.

The way that I've arranged my life,
I've left no time to feel.
This anesthetic works so well
I never do reveal
my feelings even to myself
or to those close to me.
By keeping busy all the time
I act like I am free,
and if I have some time to spare
I fill it up real fast,
and pray this numbing sedative
is somehow going to last.
When nosey people question me
I hasten to explain
this is my plan to get through life
by minimizing pain,
and yet at times I lie awake
obsessed by sudden doubt—
I worry that I'm just a fool
and somehow missing out.
I do not hope to really live
but merely to survive,
but will I mourn when I'm near death
not having been alive?