He makes me feel like I am something special.
Something that can catch an eye.
Something good enough to live.
Living. Isn't it great?
When you breath the flowers he gave you,
You know you're living.
He has the power.
He can make you smile.
You sure feel special when you're touched.
Touching. Not always great.
When he gets mad he pushes.
Pushes till you're dead, you can no longer go on.
Being dead sure has a look.
A look that catches an eye.
That eye tells me I don't need him to live and be good.
The rose is dead, but I, I am still living.
