You told me to try and write happy poems

So it would therefore be wrong of me

To not make such an attempt

I give you this

As I figure out how to write "happy":

Without you, I would be dead,

This much I am certain of

Some days I feel dead

But I wake up for you, and push forward

Just as you tell me each day

 

Rarely do I feel alive anymore

It's like purgatory

I deal with my past sins and my current predicament

And wait to see if I get to step foot in Heaven

Despite all I've done

I guess I'm happy

At least, when I'm with you

But my well-being, my happiness, hinges on yours

And lately I'm pensive, my brain overclocks

Overclocks, overclocks, and then it stops—

 

I think I think too much

About how much you struggle

And the words that get driven into you

Like knives, like nails

Don’t listen to them

They're turned so they ache more

And I can only hope that I,

With everything that my heart and head

And body can offer,

Can begin to make repairs