Happy Birthday

Memories trickle down my spine Murmurs flood into my mind Your scent is haunting my soul This nightmare has been growing old I blow out the candles yet again Why must I have another year to spend? Time is currency, and I wish to be poor. A day spent in a curled up ball on the floor. Another year, I should be grateful But I can’t help but feel so hateful. Wishing to be happy, happy with hope. But you are the reason every year, I buy rope.