Your Death Would Be My Own

{Your death would be my own {"I barricaded my heart, After your death, So that nobody could strip away and clutch at the light, That was left over after you deliberately left me, Shattered into the pieces nobody, Could pick up after, it would scath their skin and prick against it, It would ruin them as I am. You never assume, or know, or realize that to obtain was explicitly intended to shred yourself away from heartbreak from an early stage of your life. They deter us and monetize the reality and illustrate artistically in the name they fashioned of fiction, and I continued to modify my sentiments so that my brain would shut down and poignant into a rotting stem of flesh, so it wouldn’t process the information pouring inside of it, my mentality shouldn’t suffice, it shouldn’t come back from the dead. It shan’t kill me on the inside, you carve the words into my heart and then you turn around and leave as you have come, you take my soul with you and I feel, sense, grope death’s liable breath on the nape of my neck. The gloomy weather outside was a reminisce of my own, full of dull memories and feverous dreams. My judgments do not go unseen by false assumptions, I play make-believe with the children in front of me so that they wouldn’t bury their emotions seven feet under from an early age. I pretend to my mother that love wasn’t real, and sentiments were useless in this modernized society, my whispers don’t go unseen as I fall into a deep, dark-pitched hole in my sleep and I cannot get up without water splattering onto my face, regaining consciousness from the deep depths was difficult to corroborate. Flowers blossom from the shafts of the hardcore rain that hits them feverishly after months, we plant them because belong to the dead. At the very end of the land, we bid our goodbyes and part our ways without thinking twice about it, we leave them just as they have left us, our philosophy, our hearts cry out to the sky, we yearn to scream at the sudden loss of friction, and devote ourselves a promise, and call out to the horizons with a particular, shame coating our face, a coverage still left to be unseen, Loud, terrible, irreversible, and audible, the horizons, the universe imposters back at us, with the thunder of electricity gracing our presence, we curse ourselves at the sighs of our loss, from the back of our sanities, we know, from the deep whisper that bares us and tortures, that everybody leaves, separates, part our paths to adjourn new ones, even if it kills us slowly enough, even if it lingers, our whole lives, our screams explicit to ignite, the flames rotting in our corpse, we have seen, what nobody has come across, I felt my body leave, my soul, when he backed up towards his suicide, on the key bridge, and when he fell, my screams developed a power, to shaft ignite the world flames that could never, cease to exit, I parted my ways with death, the moment I saw it, take my loved one away, and leave me to pick up the pieces, of my orchestra of wails and cries, they hold me back, from following his path to end my pain as he had convicted himself too, from falling as he had. Our cries left to be unseen of and unheard, my gaze follows the crowd behind me whom clutch at their hearts with pitiful morphing eyes, as I have barricaded mine, at my dying.}