You had a sickness in your head,

one that money couldn’t fix

one that only you could cure—

one that’s not so easy to describe.

And the pain you kept from everyone

wasn’t put there overnight,

it wasn’t planted like a seed,

but it grew—and grew

like your rose bush every Summer

(you know the one you loved so well?)

whose beauty lay in a bramble of thorns.

How your spirit sang each time you saw it.

How you stood transfixed in a moments solace.

Still nothing could compete

with the sickness in your head.

And like the flick of a switch, light faded from your eyes.

There no one’s love could reach.

There no one’s love could bear.

There no one had the cure to save you from yourself.