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.

Someone once said :

"There will come a point in the history of time, when someone will have the last thought about you ever...."

I hope that last thought of me is:

"Can't wait to see her on the other side..... and be with her forever. "

Some will say goodbye

Some will say

See you soon

.

.

.

.

.

"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

“Now I understand

why she poured

herself in ink.

The essence of

her body fills

my glass

with

e

v

e

r

y

drink.”