Hurry, shut the door.
His knees buckle,
walls collapse to the floor.
He sighs with a heaviness
of a freshly carved gravestone,
finally closes his eyes, he's alone.
He never really feels the rage,
but he punches the bedroom wall anyway.
Puts on some hardcore rock,
Something loud enough to hide the sobs.
12 minutes and 43 seconds
His eyes are still not dry.
Stop crying,
Come on,
At least try!
As expected there's a knock on the door,
he wipes his eyes and rises from the floor.
"What were you doing?Are you okay?"
Nod, cross your arms, make a tough face.
They accept his answer
and they walk away,
They might have seen his tears,
Wouldn't say anything anyway,
They might just see the pain
but never really ask "why?"
Why?
Because 'real men'
don't cry.
YOU ARE READING
Words that escaped
PoetrySometimes I think of a word and sentences follow. Poetry is emotions that escape through these words. Give these poems a read, pretty please! I write with all my soul.
