I am dead

How will I let you know when I am dead. You never truly knew what made me alive. 

So much to be thankful for. Yet never enough. They were never the things to be thankful for.

So much fruit on the tree. Unpicked now turned. No one desired the tree that brought forth the fruit.

How do you tell someone you wish to die. When truly you fear death. Living with a desire that's only slightly stronger than your wish.

Why would you bother to tell a village full of blind people what you see. They'll never see it. Why would they ever care.

How will I let you know when I am dead