Death is like you,
silent, cold, and
doesn’t love me back

If you are death
then I long to be dead

In the morning,
alone,
I plant a pill
on my tongue,
and it blooms
like a chemical kiss

In the afternoon,
I wash my face and
wounds with blood

At midnight,
the rain pours
on my pillow,
but I don’t weep

Every night,
I sleep in the burning house,
but cannot feel its warmth

Where embers once burned
'neath smoke's blackened cloud,
a flower now grows
resplendent and proud,

for yesterday's wars
brought little but strife,
yet today all is calm -
may we celebrate life.

Is it possible to love in silence?