Saw those green cans in your room today
hidden under piles of taxed papers.
A cheap empty metal that tore open healed wounds,
a putrid scent that infected my resolve.
Was I the true Alcoholic? Drunk on the delusion of healing
Or maybe you had never healed to begin with.
Maybe your desperation was just well-hidden
under the smile that blanketed your face
and a laugh that made me feel safe.

A world in which we swung among the clouds
Now has been overridden by the image of you in shrouds
We'd sing songs of warmth and hope
Now I pier over your body, dressed in a despairing cope
We'd skip along the flowery hill
Now I'm paying your casket bill

I don't understand what the point was
To make your own life come to a pause
But I will respect your wishes
As I burry my beautiful missus

your heart was an enchanting land
softly alluring, naturally radiant
with birds of hope singing songs of foolishness
and trees growing fruits of ignorance.
You thought he'd nourish your soul,
replenish your spirit,
the birds had crooned so.
He entered the gates to your heart
with the key of trust you lent him
And you let his sugared words taint the trees' fruits
and his worms fill the birds' stomachs.
and soon your optimistic expectations
turned to faithless apathy.
As your heart became shrouded in scorn

I can’t breathe without you besides me,
yet the air is so clear when you’re gone.

My anger stemmed from my love
My hatred from my attachment
yet you continued to neglect my care
uttering a final blow to my heart.
Now my feelings have vanished for all,
as the scar's throbs erase our memories.
I no longer wonder how things could have been different
Instead I thank the world for your carelessness

Time has run away from you.
"Ten more minutes" every day.
She was neglected, forsaken
yet she reached her hand out once again.
and still you continued to lay,
basking in a void of false diligence.
Tick tick
ten years have passed
and now it's too late to make up for your mistakes.

I wonder what the birds think
As they fly about
Food, water, predators?
Or maybe not much at all
Maybe they think of nests and trees
Or they think of the kind human
Who sprinkled some seeds by the bench
They may remember bad times too
When they were shoo’d away
Or when rocks were thrown at them
Or maybe they don’t think of much at all
And maybe we don’t have to think of much at all
Like the birds
As they fly about

Expectations, vessels of hope
The root to your demise.
A mountain which grows with each milestone met
With triumphs- mirages of fulfillment
As the fog clears to unveil heights more expectations
And the weight of others’ aspirations
Overshadowing the joys of past achievements.
And as you ascend, echos of your weakness haunt you
Then only your failures are whispered about
And forgotten will be the trials you passed
As the summit continues to rise.

Pride is a wilted flower
You are that wilted flower.
Basking in the sun of infallibility,
Your roots were planted in the garden of ego Which has now led to your demise.
Once filled with the essence of life,
Your petals were choked by your own ambition
As you grew to be too close to the sun.
Your bloom was a symbol of beauty,
Whispering notions of hope and strength
Though now nature has punished your delusions.
And the soil you thought to be self-respect
Has betrayed you
And the sun that once was your fuel
Has scarred you.

Love is the last manifestation of satan
She’s a crimson rose, a veil of fragility
A hidden thorn, a well-kept secret
Her sweet floral embrace cultivates a garden untamed
With weeds budding, obstructing her angelic guise
And soon she whispers of corruption
Disguised as an everlasting symbol of affection.
Her enchanting petals blind and burn
And her touches of devotion fill with insatiable need.
As the weeds wrap around her stem
she screams of blessed corruption
Divine tyranny, Hopeless possession