The cold blizzard rages without stop,
Filling his body with chills from bottom to top.
The feeling sits deep inside, freezing his heart,
that is when the ice like tears begin to start.
The young man sits alone,
On his discarded, wasted throne.
A chair he calls his own,
He sits, his cane by his side.
The one thing he has, his one true pride,
Is simply a thrown away water pipe.
An ache sits inside him,
A feeling that even vodka cannot dim.
The pangs of loneliness cry out,
Louder and louder, they seem to shout.
Crying a screaming, his face remains emotion free.
The tears begin streaming, for truly lonely is he.
A warm hand to hold or a friend,
Things he will never receive in the end.
For all his lonely existence seems to give, is misery,
And the dreadful path left behind him, grievous and bloody.
YOU ARE READING
Hetalia One Shots
أدب الهواةRandom one shots based on Hetalia :D Some will be serious, some will be ships, some will be a joke. All of them will probably be a joke honestly. Enjoy? You can request a story if you want, I might not do it but I might.
