If all it takes to live is to love,
then I am in the ground.
I was lost too early,
and now am never to be found.


A creeping sickness in the pit of my belly,
a gun barrel dangerously close to my head.
I don't think things will change all that much;
I am already dead.


It all it takes to live is to breathe,
am I suffocating?
The lungs labor with my depression,
and my heart cannot stop hating.


The edge of the roof is glistening
with promises that will be no longer broken.
Have I ransomed my emotions
for three little words to never be spoken?


If all it takes to live is to feel
my corpse is long since dust.
My sense of duty and perserverance
is overpowered by distrust.


Knifes look over my body
and can see what others won't.
If you think I'm going to wake,
don't be disappointed if I don't.


If all it takes to live is to think
I shall not live anymore.
I just can't understand
what I'm still standing for.


My selfishness might be new
but it weighs across my chest.
Am I right in making you feel guilty
when all I wanted was to rest?


If all it takes to live is breathe
then I guess I might just be.
But if it takes anything more,
take pity and bury me.

 
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