It’s not a lot that I can give, not a lot that I have,
It’s just a drop in the bucket toward my goal to be better.
But even so, I wish I could give more than I’ve given myself,
Everything I have and anything I’ve had

So it didn’t go to waste
Rotting in a corner, in a room, in a space
That I can never go to again,
Or rather don’t want to go to once more

But rather reminisce about
Something that isn’t the burden
And weight that’s taken place in my heart
When I can’t look at someone else and say

I’ve done them right for once.
Futile, as my efforts are
‘Cause until now there’s not a lot I can find
That would be worth the effort or time

Others have to wait for something
As big as beating cancer,
as small as a birthday,
And from someone like me
On a day like that, of all days.

But I can give myself
And I can be here,
Forever, however long that is,
If someone would like,
I can be

Heavy grief strikes and bears a Soul found stagnant, starving, and stiff. If imbued with form a reflection of rotted wood would fill your eyes to their edges. Search for meaning in the murk swallow an ocean of tears if you must. It’s simple to hallow yourself void of feeling although to be better than the days passed is nearly insurmountable, yet on the morning that you passed I swore myself to my own betterment. I will plant myself firm as you had many times. In honor of you I will live.