They call me flower boy because my body is made of flowers.
The night is my best friend.
If I were a flower, I'd like to be a night flower, that is;
overgrowing in my own thoughts when I'm laying alone at bed.
"I don't need you to take care of me, I can take care of myself."
The light of my phone screen is leading my way on the quiet night streets.
It's a dead hour, only owls fly and sunflowers wilt.
My feet are imprinting dusty footprints on the concrete;
always wishing rain will fall and sweep them away
like the thoughts of killing myself and how much longer until I reach happiness.
Every night I kill myself in these lonesome streets.
"I don't want to be lonely, I just like being alone."
Follow my lead, maybe we'll find the river where my soul pushed my body into last night
or the train rails I threw my heart to, only to watch it being shredded into bits of nothingness.
They don't call me flower boy for nothing.
Every night I flourish with each action and talk.
I'm still growing onto the self that my parents told me to never become.
Smile 'cause you'll forget how it's done;
Cry so you can discard every thought;
Go back to bed to continue growing.
Little flower boy with a heart made of leaves
'cause everybody leaves.