At first memory,
He saw her face smiling.
A love, far removed from his day.

His life, was coming to be trying.
A story, someone may whisper and say.

From a youth,
He spent his days guarded.
As blows, rained down like a storm.

His lonesome nights,
was his time crying.
For tomorrow, he'd also be worn.

Bad choices, I guess were his calling.
You try thinking,
With bricks raining from above.

All he's left, is feeling the thumping,
Of adrenaline...
As it trickles, out with the blood.

Yet still, mental notes he is taking.
Hoping one day,
He'll make something of all this.

Not knowing if that smile he first envisioned,
Was false hopes,
Or his own, waking kiss.