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Grieving Window
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Whispers In The Dark He lives there
in his broken down
old tombstone home.
His sightless eyes
and angry heart
fed him like a curse.
Hell, sometimes,
it felt like he
was always dead.
Rarely seen in window view
musty grey like the
passing of his days.
He wrestled darkness
to hide from keepsakes
she planted for his gloom.
Wasted away exchanging
stale breath for another
lonesome memory.
Picturesque to heart
so many more
like you.
Drowning mere existence
lost beyond
an open window view.
Maybe there's still
a little something
more we can do.
