Resurrection of the Dead

Maybe you're in my room, or somewhere far off spying from behind a cumulous cloud.

So if I get caught in the rain, would it be fair to say in some odd way that I made you proud?

I wanted to give you so much more than I did, but you were preoccupied with the end of the world.

We kept you alive because you said life was beautiful, but when diagnosis fell, all of our toes curled.

Christmas is now an albatross around my neck, when I'm suppose to rejoice, I need to grieve.

Anytime you love someone, it become an eventual countdown to when they are going to leave.

This world didn't treat you right, that is why I had to protect you at the cost of my own identity.

It is good to endorse mercy and hope, but I have cut ties with anything resembling the faintest serenity.

You can tell me what it's like, no more body aches, or phantoms trying to salt your open mouth.

Everybody talks about letting go, but I still have a picture of you in my phone when things go south.

You loved to smile even though you were riddled with pain in your body and emotions.

I was never really a slick talker, but the feelings I have for your could fill all seven oceans.

My memories are a mix of razor blades and an assortment of wrapped candy.

Perhaps some exaggerations, but have you ever known a beach to be too sandy?

My personality is delicate egg deadbolted to keep out the craftiness of a fox.

We are same, the only difference between us is that I can breath in my box.