The day lay quiet in rocky hill farms,
Brisk zephyr winds danced through the leaves.
Within the homestead knelt the farmer,
A barrel clenched between his teeth.

“God has forsaken me.
Cursed am I to know what I am not—
A creature living toward the end;
I am flesh, and I shall rot.”

Before the trigger could make its click,
Before the barrel could scream its blast,
A surge of flickering azure light
Revealed a being there at last.

A lady formed of hollow blue,
With voice as vast as a choir:
“My child, my dear—why?
Why do you cradle fire?”

The farmer, shocked yet strangely fearless,
Looked up and asked a question one:
“Oh tell me, why do I still live?”
At that moment he dropped his gun.

“My dear, why do the cows you **** die—
But to make meat for you and I?
The reason you walk upon this land
Is the reason cows serve fellow man.”

Go to sleep,
knowing
you did enough—
enough to deserve
the cold side of the pillow,
after all the muddy waters
trying to drown you.
Go to sleep,
knowing your name
is in that special someone’s mind.
Someone’s thinking about you.

—

Go to sleep,
because that text
from your mother
saying “Good morning!”
is too special
not to wake up to.
She waits for your reply too—
fearing,
hoping
it isn’t the last.

Don’t make her feel that pain—
the fear of realizing
you aren’t here anymore.

Don’t let her hear that phone ring
with the news
you were found—
lifeless.

Her world will crumble,
’cause really,
you were what kept it together.
Now,
you’re what left her paralyzed—
unable to speak,
unable to feel.
Trembling
when someone says your name.

She’ll second-guess every tear
as she replays
the last time she saw you.

Was that soft smile
you always gave—
just a lie?

She wears your favorite perfume,
but never tells anyone
it was yours.

“She should’ve called more,
visited more,
asked more questions...”
is all she can think,

as she picks out the flowers
for your funeral.
Even chooses your favorite song
for the ceremony
honoring your name—
but she can’t bear
to hear it anymore.

—

The extra plates,
the empty chairs
at your mom’s house
feel a little heavier.
But she still sets the table for you,
as if you were coming
for dinner.

—

Go to sleep.
You said you’d hang out,
grab coffee
with your best friend.
Go on that date
you set up
with the girl
you’ve crushed on since high school.
Hold her hand.
Eat chocolate-covered strawberries
under the night sky.
“It’s not time to go yet”
echoes in your mind.

—

You found purpose in her eyes—
the slight smiles,
the quiet giggles
that made the void
feel less like a trap.
Her words wrap around you,
asking you to stay.

—

Go to sleep.
There’s your favorite dessert
still in the fridge.
Your favorite band
plays in your city tomorrow.
Your mom got you tickets.
You always wanted to see them—
even as a kid.
Are you really going to let him—
that little, happy child
you once were—
fade away?

Do it for him.

—

Are you really gonna let go—
let go of his hand again?
Just like when he was small—
won’t you be there
for him anymore?
Will you let him cry,
alone—
on the days
he needed you?

—

To remind him:
“You don’t need to cry anymore.”

So if nothing else,
sleep for the little child
inside of you.
If nothing else,
build something
he can call a home—
a life
he always imagined.

—

You’re the only one
he ever trusted.
Don’t let go.
Stay with him.
Maybe you’ll see him
in your dreams,
showing you
what lies ahead.

You owe him tomorrow.

I know that your sad
I know that your tired
of all the *******
that you have to deal with
and I know that its basic
but is this the only way?
to take yourself to a place,
where nobody comes back from?
hopefully you don't go
because I would like to meet you.
in life not after
because there might not be an after
maybe you have no reason to live
please allow me to give you one
Live for me
and I'll live for you

on sunday, i gave away my guitar
and i didn't expect it to be so hard
didn't expect it to crumble my heart
to know i will never feel those strings again
close my eyes and move my hands
never tune the thing until 2 AM
nathan, please take good care of it
because i love that guitar, but i'm scared to admit
scared that you'll ask again why i quit
scared that you won't keep your promise

i want to fall asleep
under a sky full of stars
out at waypoint, nobody knows where you are
nobody awake for miles around
nothing but the sweet, lulling sound
of crickets and tall grass in the breeze
and that's where i want to fall asleep
that's where i want to quietly bleed
across the gravel, head tipped to the sky one last time
and maybe this time i won't cry
maybe this time i can finally die

six days left to live
and it's getting hard to find
anything left to give
anything left inside
there is no life in these hollow bones
no place i can call my home
i am alone
i am alone

death is a sneaky person
he can snake tendrils into the folds of your brain
while you stare at a blank page
hoping the slithering in your head
is inspiration begging to be let into the empty space

the time between was a constant crime
perjury over and over to a jury of past selves
the slithering I felt at 14 became a buzzing by 21
and at 23, could cause hearing damage
I had to scream my inner monologue
just to hear myself

death and I walked together
and soon, his grip on me
transformed into my grip on him
holding on tight to what he promised me
"death," I spoke to my longest friend,
"won't you take me soon?"

those words became breakfast on hard days
lunch on long days
until it was dinner every night

I finally had the courage to look him in the eyes
so that I might see who I adored so dearly
his grip loosened on me to take down his hood
and I saw the life I hadn't led
every promise I never kept
every cut that ever bled
I saw a quiet somber in death's eyes
and I realized I had to let him go

with a sad smile,
I indulged my old confidante
and promised to live until he was ready
to walk together again.

I fell like silence breaking,
a scream that never made it out,
the wind folding around me
like arms that never did.

Now, I wake in a room
stitched with wires and cold light,
where the air tastes of bleach
and every surface hums with life
that isn’t mine.

The machine speak in beeps
soft, exact, unfeeling.
Beep.
I’m still here.
Beep.
I failed.
Beep.
I failed.

They say the sound is good.
They say the beeping means I’m stable.
But it only reminds me
that death didn’t want me.
That earth opened its arms
and still let me go.

The noise wraps around my head
like a shroud of neon thread.
It winds through the hollow
in my chest,
settling where the fall had emptied me.

I hate its voice,
its small, insistent hope.
It has no right to be so calm
when everything inside me
is still falling.

I close my eyes,
but there’s no peace.
Just the beep,
beep,
beep,
dragging me back
from the edge I chose.

And I want to ask the silence
why it let me go.
Why it handed me back
to this world of white and wires,
to these strangers with clipped voices
and pity in their eyes.

But silence won’t speak here.
Only the machines do.

Beep.
I’m still alive.
Beep.
I’m still alive.
Beep.
God, why?