Do good, Die great

It was one week before he flew back home. We were waiting for the bus. “are u ever gonna drive?” I knew he had a car accident in iceland and never touched the wheel since then. “Uhm, not really. I’ll commute when i go back.” I chuckled. “Well, actually maybe someday. I’ll eventually need it to drive my kids to school.” Somehow his answer made me angry...jealous. I wanna be there. I wanna see him overcome his fear. I wanna be the reason he overcomes his fear.

my routine used to be:

To the sad broken girl I apologize for how cruel the world is To the sad broken girl Just try to flaunt a fake smile at least To the sad broken girl Whom I truly miss I want my old self back, please.

For the girl who always smiles, But fills her hand with sharp smites; And for the boy who run miles, But is really in a fight, With the fiery bad demon, Not with blood, not with a gun. We make our own prison. Depression is never fun. We don’t want your attention, You judge us not, dear people. We just want your protection, Help b’fore our number triple. Those who say they never knew; This poem is from us - to you.