Can't get up
Get out
Can't think of words
Can't speak
Or write
Can't walk or move a fork
Can't give a fuvk
Much less talk
Fck
****.
Fine
Fat
Freak
Fate
Fake
Fish
Flood
Failure
Final
­Found
Dead
Die, dying
Death,
Need death
I must
D  I  E

need to
Just
FCKING DIE

Beauty's rose wilts 
 and petal by petal,
shard by shard;
Faster than fantasy-
time relapses
~
Beauty's rose wilts-
it's soils all settle
Erosion by erosion,
slower than springtime;
the future arrives.
Beauty's rose,
But a wilt!
without trophy or medal,
condolences, by condolences,
at our own paces-
the past persists.



Black flowers, wilted with time,
without beginning, nor end-
are seen;
   &  through the stained glass gaze of love,
are shimmering.

"Death gives meaning to life."
It makes me so angry, because,
How ridiculous is it not?
That we accept an end?

Death does not give meaning to life.
- We do.
And meaning is not something to be given
It is something to be taken.
With every breath -
With every step -
And every leap you take
You create your purpose.

"Death gives meaning to life."
No.
Living does.

You do not read a book for the end
-you read it for the journey.
You should not wake up just to go to bed
-you wake up to enjoy the day.

You do not live to die.
You live to live.

Words were left behind
    on top of the soil
    where they buried
    yesterday's bones

2. suddenly, this cold chill
    that has befriended my spine
    is now a sense of comfort
    that I am still alive

3. Grief, it is love, it is every form of love
    From every story I have ever read
    it is hope and despair
    it is the shadow
    of this rain
    that follows me
    home

4. I hope you see
    that this running clock
    moves in circles
    just like we do
                             the beginning of your journey
                             is closer to the end
                             than you could ever imagine

5. If you are looking for me
    I am searching for that old shadow
    we left with the sun for safekeeping
    thinking about burying old love

Human life is funny. I tend to think of us as candles.
And we flicker.
We’re small.
We die.

But, you feed that candle, it can be a fire.
And we burn.
We blind.
We remember.

I will die alone
as a collection of books
abandoned on an old cupboard,
as a display in all kinds of libraries,
and only some people understand,
but fewer of which we can possibly count as good memories in writings,
even as poetry.

I will die alone,
and remember all forms of joy the latter, as a creature that ever lived,
as a flower which will not bloom again beautifully in the same place.

I'm sick of burying my friends.

I'm sick of saying that I'm sick of burying my friends.

I'm sick of planning ******* candle light vigils.

I'm sick of funerals, sick of grief, sick of the hole in my chest that keeps getting bigger.

We are so young. How are so many of us already dead? Why is it that every few months, someone that I love leaves this Earth?

It's not fair.

I'm sick of saying it's not fair.

I'm sick of "I wish i got to see you under better circumstances, but I missed you." I'm sick of crying. I'm sick of watching friends and parents and spouses and children cry. I'm sick of reminiscing on stories and looking at photos from lifetimes ago, when things were simple and we were happy.

I'm sick of "they'll always be with you."

I'm sick of "they live on through us."

I wish they'd just live.