Keep Them Well (Edited)
I truly can’t presume to know
What most will say after I go,
Nor can I boast, or pray that they,
In grief or joy, might think of me,
Then toast to my finality.
How can I predict these future terms?
These unspoken hurts, these empty words.
Instead I hold, my only hope
A solemn belief, memories told to cope
Of me with them, and them with me
Will keep them well, let them be well
And remain fond, distant reveries.
When I’m Dead...
"She Was So Happy"
"She Didn't Have And Cuts"
"She Loved Living"
"She Never Showed Any Signs"
"I Don't Understand"
"Why Didnt She Get Help"
My Friends, My Family
None Of Them Know
Of The Skeletons In My Closet That Shall Never be Found
At Least Until I'm In The Ground
I Know The Signs To
Why Don't You Understand
That It's Easy To Be Happy
Or At Least Act Like I Am
So When They Find Me Dead
No Matter If It Was Because I Slit My Wrist
Or Hung Myself, Drowned, Jummped
Or Overdosed On My Meds
Just Know That You Don't Deserve To Doubt
Since If You Would Only Looked Into My Eyes
I Would Still Be Here Now
Wouldn't I