A blooming flower

I wonder, I've always wondered...
If I killed myself now,
Then would people fall in love with me?

I would love to see my funeral
And see who would mourn,
Who would understand...

Life is seen best with open eyes
Opened by closed eyes...
And awakened by tears.

But now, who would understand?
The flower blooms when it withers
Most beautiful in that instant

And it lives rotting, but lives
As tears quench its thirst
For only true concern; love.

Beauty seen after death
Is the most painful happiness
Even for the flower itself...