I still leave flowers on your gravestone.
It calms me to watch them sway in the breeze.
Just like you calmed me when you were here.
I still leave flowers on your gravestone
Purple, red, and all shades of blue.
Blue was your favorite.
A butterfly once landed on your name carved in stone.
Where you lay
It was free to flutter and he happy
I guess you are too now
I still leave flowers on your gravestone, Joseph.
I still remember how your hair was getting long and i threatened to cut it myself.
I would have cut your hair for you but now all i cut are flowers that remind me of you.
I cut flowers like you and i cut ourselves. They eventually crinkle and rot into a shade of brown.
The color of your hair
I still put flowers on your gravestone.
They eventually die. just like you did.
If you think about it,
Flowers are a lot like people in a way.
Sometimes we loose our color,
We have a stem to clutch to when storms approach
But in a sense we are all drastically different.
We cut ourselves because we don't think we are beautiful but we cut flowers because we think they are...
You were not a flower like the rest of us,
you are a weed growing in my garden.
I can pull you from my garden of memories but your roots will remain.
But weeds are flowers too if you take the time to know them. I guess the tulips and roses didn't care to meet an shunned weed.
I am not an alcoholic
But i always get drunk on the thought of joining you.
I leave weeds on your gravestone, Joseph, because they remind me of you.