I’ve taken time,
I’ve set a plan,
To try and be
a better man.
But what’s not known,
What is unsure,
Is how to live
a life that’s pure…
I’ve taken time,
I’ve set a plan,
To try and be
a better man.
But what’s not known,
What is unsure,
Is how to live
a life that’s pure…
He walks, head low,
Avoiding eyes,
A big man, who’s
Been cut to size,
A world where he,
Awaits demise,
As day by day,
He slowly dies
A broken man,
Sits idly still,
Lacks happiness,
A broken will,
No hope, no chance,
No reason why,
The broken man,
Just waits to die.
He is out every 30 minutes,
And puts stuff in his bin,
It’s strange that he is out so much,
Just what’s he putting in?
I see the narcissist standing in the corner,
Rent a friend (or ten), on hand to smile, laugh,
How can so much love be reflected inwards?
In a moment of madness,
I ask him how he is,
And he begins to tell me,
A “Show and Tell” person,
Show me everything they have,
Tell me how much it cost,
Confidence,
No, that’s so last week,
He is the one and only……
By next week,
He’ll be the one,
And only
One.
Who cares
Finding solitude in company,
Wishing his life would just,
End,
He had tried once,
He couldn’t even do that right,
He failed, failure,
Eating pills,
Like sweets,
Then a change of heart,
Admission,
Submission,
He didn’t cry for help,
He just cried,
To cure his sickened mind,
They gave him pills,
Pills,
More pills,
When they didn’t work,
More pills,
Pills,
What didn’t kill him,
Now doled out,
The shame of asking for prescriptions,
Pharmacy staff recognise the man,
He stands,
Stares at his feet,
Mumbles,
Then cries,
Helpless,
Hope,
Less
Cold,
Too cold for the day,
A cold within the bones,
Deep within,
When all else fails,
He fails,
Failed,
The once effervescent soul,
Now flat like cheap,
Leftover,
Poured lemonade,
He sits waiting,
Checking his shoulder for Death,
But it’s not yet his time,
The Tired Man,
Alone,
Not even a memory of company,
Embittered,
Battered,
Defeated.
On a darkened evening,
I looked up at the night,
My telescope it spied a man,
I got an awful fright.
He sits in darkness, waiting there,
In the dead of night,
As you walk by his hand shoots out,
Giving you a fright,
But this is not the Grim Reaper,
He wont whisk you far away,
This is just a homeless man,
Who sleeps here every day.
Bucket sized brews,
Soaked up by a broken body,
The weekend kicked in,
Kicked hard,
Kicked off,
Now sore,
Mournful,
Time wasted falling into bottles,
Then scrambling out,
Until so weary,
You drown,
Awoken with a bloodied mind,
Body,
And soul,
The Holy Trinity,
Depravity,
Of the Broken Man.