Bed of Flowers
Bed of Flowers.
There’s no way to romanticize the way I am feeling, I can’t find the right words or the clever rhymes.
I can barely open my eyes, crying for days without stopping makes my eyes look puffy.
My thoughts are taking control of every tiny aspect of my life, making me go insane.
I know you should never wish for a tragedy to happen, but I close my eyes and hope is the last one.
I can’t look forward to the future when there’s nothing that keepings me going, all I do is write silly statements.
Or theories might help me to understand why I can be as strong as some people I know.
People who have been through hell and still find a way to come back tougher than ever.
When all I seem to do is crumble over the slightest thing, like if it was matter of life or death.
I have fantasized about my funeral, which dress I would like for them to put on me, and what kind of makeup.
I would like to see the color of the flowers upon my grave, I always thought red roses would be the best.
Am I morbid? I never thought about my wedding or my birthday celebration.
Instead, I pictured images of what my afterlife would be, as absurd as it might sound.
I want to lay in a bed made of flowers, able to smell the scent of fresh rain on the dirt.
Laughing until my stomach aches, trying to guess the pattern of the clouds passing by.
I hope in the afterlife there’s an ocean. That would remind me of my family and our love for it.
And I know I would wait for my loved ones near the shore, where hopefully we can be at peace.
