This collection of gifts created and collected but never given away
They sit on this shelf I'm staring at now, rusting away
It's gifts to people from the past, present, and inevitable future
people that have passed away, passed by, passed on, will pass, are passing, are fading, and some that are so, so close to being gone
The first gift is a trombone figurine
I made it figuring
it'd be a cute means of reminding
Her of what we've gone through,
where we've been,
What we've seen,
And how far we've gone
But now she's gone
That trombone still plays in my heart
With that reverberating tone as full as the fullest of all parts
It's truly music converted to art,
People like her are the reason they call music the arts
The auditorium was her canvas
Painting smiles,
Tears,
Frowns,
Jamming this emotion in to people on all walks of life, people on the highest ups and even people on the lowest downs.
The second gift is two letters
Two letters to remind me of who I am
H
A syllable that exhausts all of yourself into a room, your air, your voice, your life
And I
I can be a quite simple
I can be delve into
I use memories to quantify my valued
I can be read like a book
I can also chose when to close
I can shift and contort my memories and dream aloud
I can confuse myself
I hate hearing horrendous hints
hinting at hopeless, hateful whores
who hallow away and help themselves however their horrible minds
have the hope of hoping to do
This "Hi" helps me see who I am by reminding me how I hated the person I miss so much now
Who would've thought I'd be here
looking at all I have left,
but that's slipping away from me so fast
Gift number 3 is a wooden heart
It beats for me when mine forgets to,
Or rather when I want it to forget how to
The remaining life it has to siphon in to me
Once came out consistently
But now it comes out slowly
In tiny bursts that allow me to breathe again
For just a little bit
To just for one second be reminded that I have one thing left
But I can see that blackness spreading across that heart
As I lay in bed staring at that heart I realize how much I miss that trombone
How much I miss that whore
That once lively heart is now blackening
Must like that trombone rusted
I'm just hoping I have enough air left to heave out a final, heavenly
Hi
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