Death pressed to his lips,
Eyes unable to look away,
Death in hand, she spins playfully in the night,
Long, blonde hair, cutting the darkness, flowing every which way.
Death pressed to his lips,
Friends around laughing, talking,
Plans for the future, travelling the world,
Stumbling hopelessly while walking.
Death pressed to his lips,
From hollow, drunken eyes warm tears pour,
She holds him tight and with care,
He doesn’t want to fight through life anymore.
Death pressed to his lips,
She promises it will get better,
On her tiptoes she reaches his cheek,
She’ll never know how lucky he is to have met her.
Death pressed to his lips,
He drops it to the ground,
Climbs into bed, her in his arms,
Calm and loved, he is found,
As death burns out, glowing in the night,
He lies in peace, knowing for the moment he’s safe and sound.
Sorry to use the title again but i love the concept of this. im my happiest when im drinking and smoking with my friends because its so perfect how similar we all are and yet we all bring something different. this poem is based on saturday night, and everything i mention in this did actually happen that night which is what i like too. reminiscing about it makes me happy which is why this is so positibe compared to my usual description. Live well and be happy my Lovelies. JY x