Sunlight

I like them, I get joy out of writing them.

Seems we both find ourselves here.

Night owl?

Or does sleep avoid you like it does me?

Funny isn't it? So late at night and yet our minds wonder further than ever.

Our dreams take over.

Mine aren't exactly dreams, I'm the unlucky.

Plagued with nightmares covered in blood.

On my hands and face untill I can't see anything but.

I sleep with screams and begging in my mind, with broken bones and torn up limbs.

Gruesome deaths that never end.

All in my head, all as I rest.

And you?

Dreamless? Or dreaming of beauty?

Perhaps you're one few lucid dreamers?

Maybe you're like me?

Dreaming of your own demise?

Or are you just awake like me?

Curled up in a bed like me?

To tried to think, to awake to go like me?

Do you fear it? The dreams, like I do?

You can do better than me.

You can, it's true.

You're better, I admit it.

You can tell I'm not a proud person from that can't you?

Better than me at finding meanings to huh?

Even in my own words.

You're better than me.

I am envious, though you already know that.

I am scared, I know you know.

I am terrified I'll never achieve what you have.

You know that one to.

You may not know this part.

You. I am proud of you.

Everything you've accomplished.

All you achieve.

I only live for a year, then you come along to take my place.

I am proud.

We are terrified.

We are scared.

But I.

This year. This day. I am proud of us.

Of what you've done.

You can, it's true.

You're better, I admit it.

You can tell I'm not a proud person from that can't you?

Better than me at finding meanings to huh?

Even in my own words.

You're better than me.

I am envious, though you already know that.

I am scared, I know you know.

I am terrified I'll never achieve what you have.

You know that one to.

You may not know this part.

You. I am proud of you.

Everything you've accomplished.

All you achieve.

I only live for a year, then you come along to take my place.

I am proud.

We are terrified.

We are scared.

But I.

This year. This day. I am proud of us.

Of what you've done.

No moral failings there, you can't be good at everything,

Can't be bad at everything either.

I am bad at

drawing, sleeping, eating, talking, walking, running, fighting.

I am bad at life.

Maybe it's just me. Only me. Who is bad at everything.

I am bad at writing poems.

I am bad at my best and favourite hobbies.

I am bad at emtions and body language.

I am bad at social rules I never seemed to get.

I am bad at singing and dancing

I am bad at watching movies and shows.

I am bad at talking to others,

I am bad at eating on schedule if at all.

I am bad at painting and playing instruments,

I am bad at music.

I am bad at maths, numbers and letters that never got though.

I am bad at my own language, stuttering and stumbling over ever other word.

I am bad at being a proud citizen of my country, how can I when we have so much bad history?

I am bad at social media.

I am bad at breathing, it hurts so much.

I am bad at sitting, the pain just continues.

I am bad at everything you couldn't think of and everything you can.

I am bad at games, cards and computer. I can't code, I can't create.

It's not good, it's not bad either.

Just a note.

The one you'll find when my body has crumpled to the ground.

The one you'll look through and...

I don't know what you'll say.

Will you laugh?

Will you cry?

Will you look at it and see how pathetic I am?

This note, oh so important, the least intresting thing of all.

The words don't lie this time.

They don't tell you I'm fine,

They don't say it will be ok.

It won't, for me.

This note tells you all of me,

Tell you my fears and dreams and whats left once I leave.

Just a note. On my bed. Beside my lifeless body.

Just a note that you can read if you find it, if you care.

Just a stupid note with five lines and poor spelling.

Tear stains and pain in every word.

I'm not sorry for the possible pain I'll cause.

I don't think there will be pain to apologise for.

This note. My precious note.

For you I would fight,

I would win and,

I would take it upon myself.

For you I would read,

I would read all your favourite books so I'd understand your rants.

I'd read articles in articles about what you need from me, I'd follow them to the T.

For you I'd be kind,

Kind enough that softness steal my heart away,

Kind that you maybe be free of pain,

Kind because it's what you deserve not just what you need.

For you I would be smart.

I would make a time machine to save you over and over.

I would travel to space and back to be able to I loved from that far away,

I'd research and bargain with death until you were ok.

For you I would beg.

Beg for you to be spared of pain.

Beg for deaths hands to loosen their grip

Beg for mercy, for me to die first.

For you I would sob,

I'd sob untill my tears soaked every bedsheet I own.

I would cry untill my eyes go red and I'm dehydrated and tired.

I would cry over a rock in the ground and cry for you to return to me.

For you.

Oh for you my love I would do a lot.

I may not be good, I was not born with talent.

But I was born to paint and create.

And I was born to be a writer.

For the words to pour from my mouth and for them to appear in my mind

As if they had been waiting for me to arrive.

And I was born for music.

To play and dance and sing until my throat is raw and dry.

And I was made for you.

I was made to put my head in between your shoulder blades.

To nudge at you and chuckle at what you say.

To get angry at you and love you anyway.

Characters included.

The whole idea makes me so happy and the feeling you get is something I can't imagine being able to recreate.

I swear the first time I touched my paintbrush or got my drawing pad it was this feeling.