I've always hated
that question.

I've wanted to die
since I was
eleven years old.

Isn't that
reason
enough?

She is like a Christmas tree

Tall and wide

Prickly, trying to show strength

Her inside sticky and soft

Her aroma captivates the room

When decorated and dressed

She is fully herself

Plug her in and let her shine

But be careful of the light

Leave it too long and it will dry her

And she will wilt

Eventually her time will come

No matter how you care for her

She will be undecorated

Brought to the sidewalk

Left to decompose and be reborn.

I think you're being petty

I think you're being childish

I think you're being blinded

Am I suppose to tell you

I've been holding my tongue

Keeping in every ounce of admiration

Was I suppose to tell you

That your smile made me melt

That your presence shook my life

That every time you touched me

I hoped it was just a little more

I'm better now at being silent

Your life is going through an earthquake and for that I forgive all the bad thing and all the sad words

But know that if I could I'd kiss it all away

Even if it risked my own earthquake.

Some people say that when you die

It's just like you're sleeping forever

I wonder though if you still dream

I hope not

Because I don't want to die

And still dream of you.