it was my birthday

and i went to the park to sit alone and just stare out at the clouds. the winds were strong and the sound of the water was rumbling and roaring lightly against one another brings a subtle calmness over me.i bought myself some daisies maybe itll make me smile ,i cant remember the last time i smiled
no one celebrated my birthday since no one remembered it .
it doesn’t bother me much, even though it would be nice to have someone sit here with with me right now.
i love lighting candles
It really does take over that saturated pain out of my chest
i wish someone can light the candle,
or my cigarette
but i have no match or lighter
to even spark the candle up
but it’s fine.
I’m sure even if I had a lighter, it’d be almost impossible to actually light up the candle since it’s so windy.
It’s still nice here ,
I really would wish I had a friend here
. I wish I didn’t feel the heaviness that follows me everywhere I go.
I wish someone would’ve bought me daisies—
I wish someone knew they were my favorite.
I wish someone called me or texted me a happy birthday
I wish someone was here with me
I wish the friends I had just months ago could be here with me, but they’re company has vanished and has left me seeking ghosts that never appear— only haunting with a familiarity of memories.but I know not everyone is supposed to care
i know no one cares and they shouldnt why would they
It just feels like every year becomes a lot more lonelier and dull.

today i am eighteen years old but my thoughts wander 2 places where those of ppl over eighty usually stay ,the ppl who have gotten familiar with the pain theyve tasted on their tongues and bled from their eyes for years.
i am eighteen years old but ive walked this earth atleast seventy hundred years and grown even older in the process .i am eighteen years old but i belong to a place eight thousand miles up from here-or maybe down im not exactly sure.

i hate my birthday