I Think I Will Die Wondering

i think I will die wondering

what you all really think of me

maybe on my funeral

give a speech that's literal

my last words probably will be

"I don't think you even knew me"

I'm so afraid to tell you anything

I guess I will die wondering

/

the spring had came

what have we became?

I don't tell you anything anymore

we're right back where we've been before

looking out the window

I think it's even worse now

to contemplate my death

think of the last breath

when the sun is shining until late

it's something I grew to hate

/

so many questions in my head

and poems you will never read

why the hell do you even like me?

I ask myself that constantly

it's not that I don't trust you all

it's just that I can take the fall

once I'm gone you cannot cry

don't take the fall, just learn to fly

/

you tell me how you see me, still

it does not make sense to me

the most random of compliments

what have you even meant?

it just proves to me furthermore

how little you got to know me for

I know that it's my fault

your trust came to a halt

I wish I could tell you what I think

and when I try I just shrink

in on myself and just decide

it's gonna come out when I die

• you never knew me/things I don't tell you - zero (me)

[yes, it's a draft of a song. yes, i probably will never finish it. yes, i'm not okay. yes, that's the only reason i came back to writing]

there's no gratitude in me

I am forever ungrateful

I am the rot that's spoiling this home

yet I am the only one who tries to run away

- zero (me)

there aren't any words in which I could put the purest act of your love that is sitting with me at night and listening to me complain about writing poems and songs

I hope you realise all the love in them is for you

there seems to be a universal understanding

of the fact that no good life was a good story

good lifes make good examples and I make

poetry and bonfire stories that can't go unheard

and I am glad for all the harm that was done

to me and only to me, for maybe it was better

to make my life worse and my poems relatable

noone reads poetry when they're alright, and

more so noone ever writes poetry when happy

maybe the stars aligned in this way for every poet

maybe god made us with a bigger purpose, than

any mortal happiness, made us for eternal things

written in ink and lived through in our own blood

- zero (me)

[ I finished writing my poetry book and I just know I will hate all of them in a year or two. I am never proud of my poetry. my mind is a burn book ]

around the dinner table

comes a story not so old

that they think does not

resonate anymore

about crooked floorboards

and cold water for months

and saving all your money

in order to save yourself

and when it ends they

hand you some cash since

these times are past us

but you know you're wise

and so put money in a jar

hidden from everyone

you have to save up

in order to save yourself

the times have never and

will never change

• savings jar - zero (me)

i will pack up all my life

and leave memories behind

writing a few notes to friends

to make sure I am forgotten

I know I will die one day

my mum raised to believe

if I spill my blood it will be okay

but I won't do this here

I won't rot away

in the same fucking place

who made me die in everyway

i can't Die here- zero (me)

(writer's block hit me like a truck and my life has been so chaotically stoick I hate it. also it's a song draft not a poem but we will ignore this fact)