My hands shake
As I try to touch his head
To see if his awake
Or really dead

He tied my legs and hands
So I do not run away
Stumbled over empty cans
On his way

Laying infront of me
Face down near my feet
It's almost impossible to see
As from my seat

A kidnapper by fate
Hiding from angry cops
He's worthy of hate
But why he sobs

As hours passed, I saw him move
With teary eyes, he came closer
Untied me to prove
He's not a bad guy, he's not a loser

Sat me free, he told me to go
I wanted to help him out
He wouldn't let me so
I ran off hearing his painful shout

I came back in awhile
He was laying on the floor
Rain was heavy and wild
So I closed the door

I treated his cuts and paced bandaids
He told me to leave as it was unsafe
Cops everywhere doing their raids
I am with my coffee, sitting now in a cafe

Writing this scripty poem as it plays
Cafe closing soon, the manager says
Enough of writes tonight, I rest my ink
Till another write I come to think...


©sim