A drug addict's mother will view every overdose as tragic.
While most anyone else will think of them as pathetic.

A family who has a member **** themselves are filled with a hidden resentment.
But those looking over the edge are jealous and happy their pain has ended.

A ****** victim always died "too soon and too young."
But to his enemies, he was just a target on the run.

An accident is just that, and there's no one to blame.
So loved ones forever mourn, quietly going insane.

Disease is just bad luck mainly.
So children left behind often ask, "why me?"

Old age and war are the most honorable ways to go.
But put yourself in their shoes... the newly departed are finally joining their friends.

Death is all about perspective.
And it's always a selfish act.
Not on those that have left us.
But those that want them back.

Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again

Every morning he woke up minutes before she did and would listen to the low hum of every breath exiting her nose.
She would flip from her side to her back and the beige covers rustled like dry autumn leaves.
She would moan as she stretched with her arms outwards, fists balled, and her legs high up in the air.
Then, she would turn to him, whisper sweet nothings, and swing her body towards the side of the bed.
The sound of her light feet pattering on the wood floor always made him laugh.

But now his house is haunted.

The walls seem to murmur intrusive thoughts into his head.
The floor rattles beneath his feet like a snake giving a warning.
The glass shakes in the window panes at any slight breeze, mimicking gunfire.
The water from his sink gushed from the faucet with such great speed that it rung against the white hollow porcelain.

She wasn't there anymore.