Sometimes I want to die.
I'm not sure what comes after.

Grandpa says we're reborn amongst the stars,
That maybe we'll live on Mars.
I wonder if the sunrises would be just as colorful,
Or if the sky will drown in the same rusty red as the ground.

It's a recurring thought; the ins and outs of it all.
I think about it almost as often as grandma says she regrets keeping us.
That she should have let dad's family raise us to avoid all the fuss.
And that last bit stings.
It used to be my character was just like his,
The slap to the face I'd get for correcting her in front of others.
Now it's remorse for the life she led and throwing punches without the proper covers.
Bruised knuckles are better than split skin and sometimes the thought of getting caught is enough to stop a robber.

《》

Sometimes I want to die.
I'm not sure what comes after,
But Heaven would sound a lot like your laughter.