She was dying
The others were crying
The tears smeared her bed
Depression taking root in their heads
But not me
Oh no, Smanga was fine
Too busy with his weed and his wine
Too busy wasting his mom's money
And pretending to be funny
Way to much on my plate
To check on my family as of late
I was worried about myself
So why would I ask about her health
Why would I take my time
To check if she was fine
To ask if she was losing her mind
But now it's too late
She doesn't know my name
But she loves me all the same
Her stupid golden heart
It still loves me
Even if I don't deserve it
Even after I left her deserted
It hasn't learnt to forget
At least not yet
Give it time
And it will learn
To give the hate that I have earned...
YOU ARE READING
Lost Boy💧💧
PoetryA bunch of sad poems. Most inspired by the words of the Syre himself
