One more year until you're gone,

One more year before I probably won't see you again,

One more year of our many years of friendship being thrown away,

One more year until I break.

I wonder what people see when they first look at you,

are they nervous?

Are they afraid?

Do they wonder about your thoughts?

Or do they see you as an everyday person?

Or do they think you look kind,

You left dead flowers at my grave,

as if they were all the same.

Most leave bouquets,

even though they will slowly die,

just like me til I made it to the afterlife.