Friends popping that dandelion,
visions, familiar faces with regret
-too much crying,
my childhood happily frail, dying.
Blue pills smirking, a hush and cold whispers,
do not resuscitate they mock,
all it was, was a good time,
how could it be the last time?
Dandelions floating in the wind,
the buds resting on my shoulder,
bitter memories glistened with snow,
no chance to blossom, he is no more older.
Screaming black ink,
tell me how he died,
and tell me how his parents,
did not raise any question,
even though they knew he lied,
oh we should know dandelions inevitably die,
when we forget to tend,
or lack the courage to ask why.