The pains grown on him
grown into him,
You can see it in the drips of
His tired eyes,
In the extra 100 pounds of weight
Around his waist,
In the desperate laugh of
A man longing for
Affection.
Death surrounds him in a
Cloud of filthy humid loneliness.
You would think, through
So much sadness a dry and
Respectful humor would encompass
His company,
No,
A dying man attracts no laughter,
With a wounded soldier comes only guilt.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
The pains grown on him
grown into him,
You can see it in the drips of
His tired eyes,
In the extra 100 pounds of weight
Around his waist,
In the desperate laugh of
A man longing for
Affection.
Death surrounds him in a
Cloud of filthy humid loneliness.
You would think, through
So much sadness a dry and
Respectful humor would encompass
His company,
No,
A dying man attracts no laughter,
With a wounded soldier comes only guilt.
