Today's poem is for a guy,
the guy who was "living the good life",
drove a nice car and had a hot wife,
this one's for that "rich guy".
They say on the news that he's dead,
"fell off a rooftop" they said,
"such a tragic premature death",
some say he was really depressed.
On his IG stories he was always fine,
if anyone asked "he was alright",
he was only 23 but how old was he inside?
How much longer could his life have been
if only the people around him had seen
the obvious dead eyes behind that smile?
How many more tragic funerals
will people have to attend
until they learn to teach their sons
that sometimes it's okay to cry?
I, me, myself, this random guy, felt really bad for that guy, so I'll leave that here. People are water balloons when they get too full they explode. Simple enough?