Can't you see? Don't you careI want to die?Don't you listen? Can't you hearMy silent cry?
Won't you turn? Can't you holdMe to your heart?Are you afraid of what might followOnce you start?
Would you rather not believeI'm in such painThat all your sense and good adviceMust be in vain?
Would you rather tell yourselfI'll be OK,And all this adolescent angstWill go away?
Ah! Would I also swim acrossThis lake alone!But if you cannot swim with me,I know I'll drown.

mayb l8r bt we'll ave 2 c


Though I chose death instead of pointless pain,Please forgive the manner of my leaving.My love and need for all of you remain.
I could not long such suffering sustain,Nor would it long have held you from your grieving.Though I chose death instead of pointless pain,
I hope that choice will not my memory stain,Nor lead you to be wroth at my deceiving.My love and need for all of you remain.
For only in you do I live again,Woven like a wind into your weaving.Though I chose death instead of pointless pain,
I put to you the plea of the self-slain:To comprehend an anguish past conceiving.My love and need for all of you remain
That all that I have been not be in vain,But blend into the earth of your believing.Though I chose death instead of pointless pain,My love and need for all of you remain.

I need to say goodbye although you're with me.I stand beside your grave, yet you are here.I miss you terribly and hope you miss me,But when I turn to you, you're always near.I talk to you as though you lived within me,Not changed but simply moved in from outside.I know each day you must a little leave me,But here, as always, you must be my guide.You were and are and will be, just as ever,In many minds and hearts, not only mine.No physical event can such love sever;Death is a dimension, not a line.And so goodbye does not mean you are gone:So long as I still love you, you live on.

I want you to be happy when I'm gone.When you mourn me, make your mourning bright,Adjusting what you long for to the light.Nor need you love the less what has passed on.The art of memory is celebration,Yearning that turns sorrow into song,Opening a heart forever youngUpon the unmade bed of its creation.Then celebrate my life, and also death,On which I, like a mendicant, depend,Begging that my suffering might endEven as I fight for every breath.Hold onto me with unresentful tears,A testament to what we've learned of love,Pleased again to move as your heart moves,Partaking with no loss in passion ofYears as rich and full as were our years.

You told me in a dream you always loved me.I wept with joy at what with joy you said.My sadness was not there. It was so lovely.And with you was my darling, also dead.The sky was with an early sunrise burning,Yet still with ample darkness for the moon,Which held the secret of its youthful yearningAlthough it knew that it would vanish soon.How wonderful, I thought, at last to hear youSay what I had known but never heard!Abandoned, I have long longed to be near youAnd find my long-lost refuge in a word.I saw the truth of it within your eyesAnd blessed the dream that ends but never dies.