left in the back seat.

in this bed

Do you hear them?

Talking about me like I'm not here.

This is it I'm dead,

Pull the blue sheet over my head.

I bet some would celebrate

For my death.

But not my futer.

They would cry.

What would it feel like to fly.

To just jump and know there is no going back?

To die?

All the voices

I can picture faces to them.

My mom... worrying.

The docter.... caring.

They say i was a favorite.

On all the floors out of all the patients

But was i really?

Or was i just another patient?

Did they think my dad would come.

I didn't

He wouldn't care.

He would just come for the money.

For the papers

To know his mistake was gone.

To know he would finally be rid of me.

But its not that easy you see.

Because I'm not dead.... I'm just not quite alive.

I'm just there.

Laying on the bed. With that crappy gown on.

In the dull sheets.

But why couldn't i die...

In this bed?