I tried watering a plant to find it was already dead
She spoke to god but found out his voice was only in her head
I cut my hair in hopes of reinventing my appearance
She sliced her wrists in hopes of losing her existence
I sang songs to the ocean hoping someone would hear me
She tied a rope around her neck trying to set herself free
I washed my hands in hopes of making them clean
She often wonders what it's like to be buried 6 feet deep
The thing about death is that it's always on our minds,
It's just a matter who's ready for it and who's wishing for more time.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
I tried watering a plant to find it was already dead
She spoke to god but found out his voice was only in her head
I cut my hair in hopes of reinventing my appearance
She sliced her wrists in hopes of losing her existence
I sang songs to the ocean hoping someone would hear me
She tied a rope around her neck trying to set herself free
I washed my hands in hopes of making them clean
She often wonders what it's like to be buried 6 feet deep
The thing about death is that it's always on our minds,
It's just a matter who's ready for it and who's wishing for more time.
Request permission to use this poem