Call him, "Futile."
He showed the void apathy and it showed it right back. It's not so funny anymore.
Before he could stop to think, a petal shaped tear fell to it's depths. A long way down; but somewhere between where it starts and where it begins, someone appreciated it.
Loneliness, a terrible friend, who tries to makes up for it with some advice from time to time. Brief this time: You got this, keep trying.
YOU ARE READING
Mr.Futile
PoetryA broken man who seeks wisdom, or at least a little company. - small poem