PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

the man lived his life, in the end, became a sad story..

wishing for her...

his morning glory.

loneliness was his plague..

walking along the concrete, his shadow amplified his defeat.. 

a pill for each sorrow.. 

doesn't care to wake for anything tomorrow..

will he ever be able to see her smile again..?

the guitar was his outlet..

& precious was his long hair, a golden crown..

like an angel to all around..

but the demons took his hand...

promised a better land, as they dragged him down...

robbed him of all his color... 

he gripped tightly to what was left..

but grace slipped through his finger tips...

pages, chapters, paper & writing..

short lived escape route.. 

books were some of his closest friends..

little did he know, how I worried about him..

wish I could of done better..

though I was just a child, it all feels the same to me..

like I watched his growing disease of depression make progression...

the darkness overwhelmed him, & choked him in his sleep...

I knew it was the day..

& after that, I myself haven't longed to awake in the morning...

every night I doze off, tossing & turning..

I feel like i'll wake up to someone dead..