Deathbed Optimist

I always try to starve, but I swallow my words and they make me slow and bloated. I try to run to clear my mind, but I trip in potholes and everyone notices. Sleep’s for the weak, so I don’t do it, but I’m still stuck with nightmares. There’s four billion ways to say “I love you” but I just want you to care.

It doesn’t matter that time’s not on our side; we’ll make do with what we’re dealt. Maybe if you listened quietly enough, my heartbeat would sound heartfelt. Or perhaps you’re only around to see, to report back that I’m too far gone. Or maybe you really do miss me and this could go on and on and on.

It’s hard to say that everything’s fine, that I’m doing as best I can. I know that you’ll know it’s all a lie; you’d meet me with sad eyes and reach for my hand. Because I’m a wild, lonesome, loose cannon and I got burned too many times. Now I’m eager to wither and fade and lose because dead men don’t ever cry.

So please don’t panic and don’t call for help ’cause I don’t ever want it. I loved you and I fought to the end for you heart, but some other girl came and won it. So let me starve, eat my words – God knows you don’t want them back. Just remember me when my name hits the papers and my family’s dressed in black.



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