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slydostedPoems
This man is dying on his bed Empty bottle in his hand Suffocating from the drugs And liquor he took He falls as he struggles to stand He's laboured so hard But all his earnings — Down the drain Did the blood storm his brain? Does he feel himself going insane? Has the coke left his veins? As he slams back down to the floor He makes no other movements And no other sounds Now when someone enters They'll know he died a clown
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Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 2:44 PM UTC
The Fool
This man is dying on his bed Empty bottle in his hand Suffocating from the drugs And liquor he took He falls as he struggles to stand He's laboured so hard But all his earnings — Down the drain Did the blood storm his brain? Does he feel himself going insane? Has the coke left his veins? As he slams back down to the floor He makes no other movements And no other sounds Now when someone enters They'll know he died a clown
Trigger Warning: This poem feature triggering topics (suicide,  drug abuse, self-harm, depression). Kindly restrict yourself from reading if you are sensitive to these topics.
#depression#selfharm#drugs#alcohol#death#fool
slydosted
Written by
slydosted
M/United States
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 2:44 PM UTC
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