Little yellow daffodils,
Swaying in the wind.
Pretty yellow daffodils,
By the roots they're pinned.


Little Singing mourning doves,
Sweetly fluttering in.
I plucked up a daffodil,
Whispering of sin.


I love my little daffodil,
To it's unhappy disdain.
The life of my daffodil is short,
Barely any more remains.


It's my fault, my pretty daffodil,
That you will die young.
But remember my soft lullaby,
I always gently sung.


You are love, my little daffodil,
A pleasure mixed with lust.
My peachy little metaphor,
Dying so quickly it's unjust.

I’ve been depressed all week
But she‘s been too.
She shares her coping methods
And she’s praised and supported.
I share mine and I get a single
“Nice.”

I’m the one willing to take bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To make sure I haven’t drowned
While lifting others so they can breathe.

At this point it’s not even them.
I’m force-feeding words into their mouths
As I watch them go about their lives.

I know that
They’re busy.
They’re tired.
They’re taking a personal day.
They’re working on themselves.
And I understand that.

But whenever
I’m busy,
I’m tired,
I’m taking a personal day,
Or I’m working on myself,
I’m there at the drop of a hat.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that maybe, just maybe
I need help too.

Irrelevant.
The delayed introduction after the
“How have you beens?”
“Fine and yous?”
“I’ve been great, I have this story...”
Minutes pass before I’m even thought of,
And by then I’ve excused myself.

I’m the one that’s taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes.
I’m taking you out and bringing you in
But I can only take so much.

I’m so desperate to be important to someone
That I don’t know how to be important to myself.
Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold”
Is unintentionally excluding.
I’m surrounded friends and their golds
But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that I give more than I take
And that I’ve given away my soul.

A sick feeling in my stomach,
But if I bring it up,
I know you’ll have it worse.
So I swallow my bile
And stretch out a smile.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I’ve made it out
Of the burning building too.

I’ve laid myself out as a doormat.
So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I am
Broken.

You know what she is
She's a drink
she's like alcohol, I love drinking it but I hate waking up the next day
No
Actually, No
she's like a cigarette.
I love cigarettes
I love taking a breath with it
How it just is part of
you
just, inhale and get a buzz
Before you exhale
until you bring cigarette away from your mouth, give it a second and then go again.
All the while it destroys you inside
Until eventually you finish that cigarette
and then you just toss it on the curb.
Sometimes you drop it in a puddle of tears.
sometimes you break it before you get to light it, other times you burn the wrong end of the cigarette.
That goes on for a while
until you finish the pack
some people even get bored or sick of their cigarettes, so they switch their brand.
but all in all.
their still smoking a ******* cigarette
and the end of the day, every time you finish one
you die a little more inside
Just a little, your insides literally blacken
and her?
well she's the **** of a cigarette I've kept going for too long
it's kind of burning my fingers now.
so I'm gonna **** it.
then I'm gonna buy a new pack.