i've watched you die one thousand times
in one hundred different ways

still, i can't decide which is worse
what my mind creates at night,
or, what we found that day

this reoccurring theme of mine,
all that i've catastrophized,
comes out at night to play

sometimes, my mind
makes me watch you die -

a masochistic gift for me

sometimes, it's that i know you'll die
and i can't warn of what i see

once i dreamt you faked your death
to prove our lack of care
you didn't even tell your best friend, Steve
he was just as confused and unaware
"i knew it! you guys don't love me"
you screamed, as i stood there

my mind still fights the guilt i have
but it rears its ugly head

i woke up on my 25th birthday
crying, from the torments of my bed

the dreams that make me pause the most
are where you live
but you're not you

you're angry, and hurt, and you're like a child
and you won't calm down to speak to me
and i don't know what to do

but i know why i have that dream
it's my soul's decline of guilt

because if that's what we saved you for
our lives couldn't have been rebuilt

my mind wanders to that night
staring down the stairs

it's my mind and it pleads with me:
it's better we weren't there