Analysis of Passend as a funeral

Never have I…
blown my age out
on a cake with candles...
time and time again
having to return in
the majority, it remained
silent... the substitute
loneliness of my loss,
now painfully...
in the sorrow.
And it hurts, in their own
sinking eyes... I realize it
thanks to you...

I've been drawn
into a suitable life,
not even in thoughts...
Is this who I really am,
the sorrow of a stranger?
People have deceived
themselves... I didn't know...
that one second heartbeat
sealed a pact
with the shaking of
my hand... turning
myself to the other
side... as if I firmly held it
with a task
…Don't you hear?

I beg for forgiveness.
But I've sacrificed myself
for a sense of love,
and I can't even return...
that I learned in secret,
life between none of us,
not mine... and certainly
not yours,
that's the strange part.
I know I've been
abandoned, I feel it…
it's safely…
kept in my heartbeat.

Here with my soul
hidden in a kept secret,
all I ever wanted was to stay
away from there...
and silently. What am I to you?
Through the days to be loved
by you, always a broken smile
behind a stranger's eyes...
See now what I am...
become by them.
A ticking clock ends
with numbers up to twelve
... right?

so I ask with breathing;
When everything becomes later
and stopping would only continue,
would we then incomprehensibly
continue... or can that not be
in the knowing of a never shed tear?
Then I remove it but my voice,
sad as the cry of who I am,
I beg for damage
with forbidden words,
the silence... it's not
always placed by hand.
closed, and unable
to share, stolen.

Why do I always wonder from
a previous question...
but who were we as it is now?
Ask that, light of the world.
Multiple honors
deceived in a promise,
places in between.
I was placed... and yet
I stayed.
Until my broken
presence... a sharp piece
set reflection of a cut jewel.
…it doesn't match
But I am laughing.

First to stand
as laugh of my prison.
The sickness of this
false past
was the end of my life...
But I refuse to speak
that question,
I prefer to speak mine.
Now I am here
in the past... a voice,
as if they're trapped
and I've fought
with my own truths,
my thoughts are written...

Would-be learning,
and someone strange
as second...
waiting in this loud void
of my present, baptized...
with own ashes.
Sleep was often avoided.
Faced as a young child
I die in darkness.
It seems like
everyone has
already forgotten me.

Once again to be stacked
into a lonely name,
out of my own tears I am
confused in a whisper:
‘Changes took'
from my goodbye in coldness,
underneath... not above.
That one rule... frozen
between a soft state.
My prohibition. Soundlessly
I walk with a closed mouth,
that is realizing... knowing
what to say, that follow
each other, and to lay down.

Ignore me... or agree with a holy
voice lost in my lost lungs...
ask for that invisible riddle,
it's behind a tick on a glued wall
where a new wooden plank creaks,
roof reflection of the floor
from before my time...
Tell me... where is the key?
Where and when, may I know it?
That... that I can't see.
And oh... it... it hurts me.
Self-written shame shows
a please...
Self-devised in the books . . .