"It helps me forget her" were the words he spoke,
Every time we asked why he chose to stay alone:
He wore his smile like a cloak,
and it stayed on his face alone in his home,
We brought another woman to see him,
but he refused to meet the lady:
To him it was leaving on a whim,
To us it was a matter of losing our buddy,
He never wanted to lose the thought of her,
so within the letter he wrote:
His last thought was of her and the hurt,
and his hurt of her left us only a bloody note.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poetry
PoetryRandom poetry ive been writing as a coping mechanism sp i dont kms