Obssessions with death

All around me are familiar faces
wout out places, worn out faces.
Bright and early for the daily races
going nowhere.
Their tears are filling up their glasses
no expression.
Hide my head I want to drown
my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow.

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had.

I find it hard to tell you
cause I find it hard to talk
when people run in circles.
And now I'm at the end of this page,
I am writing while they are dead.

I write this sitting on the ledge
looking at the profusion of green
the orangeness of the sun
realising, with a little chill down my spine,
that life is beautiful.

For all my obssessions with death,
I haven't jumped yet.