Why?

Was it something they said? Was it something I did?
Telling signs let flowers die, flowers bloom; to mask the dead.
Like you can't realize you're already beautiful.
Please, tell me why.

Three years.
Straight, no arguments. No fighting.
Sometimes tears,
following laughter.

The quiet moments you break down; like I would never understand. Like I'm a puppet in a house; blindly famous and largely small.
Why. Why. Why. Again? This is a feeling.

Will I ever get you back?
I hate it.

The covering, the hiding, the sadness I can only see but
can't imagine; yet am so cursed to understand.

My only hope is fake friendliness, when I'm worried,
and God I'm worried.

God. It is you. It is you who I see, you who I care so deeply for,
you who I have spent three years knowing. And it is you still that
I can see, read, when you're falling apart.

little moments in your words-
where you cut yourself off.
like what you said was dull,
when it was anything but.

little moments in your writing-
I can read between the letters,
to see to the very bottom of
you, the very core. the horror.

and in those places, where I
love to sit, where I'm neither seen
nor heard, I watch the ocean slowly
drain from you; watch you give up.

but for what i will never know

was it a combination of your pretty friends, and isolation; or a feeling that drives you to that point. Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?

Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?
Why can't you see you're pretty?

You are beautiful.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful.
You are beautiful.

look in a mirror.

But this pain is anaphoric,
I know it so well,
sadness repeating.
Woman (reading).

it repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and repeats,
you wake up and it repeats, and sings in your head.

Today is the day!
You've finally met fate,
so why are you so low?
Succumb to the pains!

Today is a felling tree!
It was never meant to be.
Anaphoric. Woman reading.
Collapsing. Repeating.

and days will turn into years,
years to a decade,
a decade to two.
And you will never even see it leave.

get it out,
please.