Sunday, September 28, 2008
The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. ~Mark Twain
Sometimes, i wish i wasn't born,
or if i was lost,
Or a tragic incident happened.
That's what my brother wants of me.
He wants me dead.
He wanted me to spend Hari Raya
In the hospital, probably dying.
He thinks he's so big.
Noone cares.
No one ever will.
He wants me dead,
That makes complete sense right?
How do i breathe without you here by my side,
how will i see that ur love brought me to the light,
Where do i go, when ur heart's where i lay my head,
how do i breathe, how do i breathe.
8.55 Pm
Sunday, 28 September '08.
Labels: Tears are the silent language of grief
8:42 PM
'Will you think that you're alone.
When no one's there to hold your hand'