Friday
No matter how many people I plead
to stay on this Earth, to keep
breathing, it will never
be enough, will
it? You will
always
want
to
die.
(
I'll be crucified after I say this, but you weren't a case of a troubled soul, you were selfish.
That's why you're gone, not because the world was against you, but because we were for you, and you couldn't handle not having something to complain about.
)
I'll be sure to
speak at
your
funeral.
YOU ARE READING
Post Meridiem
PoetryI'd do anything to save myself. Hell, I'd even change the world.
