Everyone I Know Is Dying

I speak of love for poetry, never art.
Structured pre-empted sentences make me nostalgic.
I use the ones I wrote three weeks past.

Everyone I see has something to prove.
I’m just trying to prove I’m still alive.
Saying, “I’m alright, I’m getting by.”

Fake smiles help me regret not speaking up.
Melancholy needs a voice too.

“Die to yourself,” is what they proclaim.
Funny?
They can’t seem to touch the sticks at their own aim.

My life is written in with pencil.
So I can erase what I know.
Reevaluate and renew my thoughts.
Until they don’t show any form of mine.
Conformity to the mind of my father.

Another day, there was a beautiful mistake.
“You are quite possibly, indescribable.”
This hurts too awful for words.
Recalling words of, “Have a good night, beautiful.”

Tomorrow will be the first day of October.
Yesterday was the last day of forever.
Another day closer until I leave.
Blessed to die and scared to be alive.

I hope I see you again.
I know you never want to hear another letter.
I don’t care.
I want to know when we can get it back?
She says, “Never, because you always wear black.”