by sar c bees
I was left at the bottom of my life
Restless; but breathless, and gasping for air.
There was something that took me back to the horizon
The same thing that took me back to those bonfires
And the songs we sang around them,
And the feeling of being on top of the world
It took me back to those long car rides,
and long conversations
for fate had decided i'd lived quite too long.
I struggled to mutter "stay strong"
Which i thought were my last words.
I was told later that they weren't;
I didn't have any last words.
That's how it always seemed to be, i wasn't allowed to speak
even in death
My words don't matter, for i'm just a pretty face.
A beautiful painting above a warm fire place
now engulfed, and burned to the ground.
But what people don't know doesn't matter, right?