Crowd

He handed out his love Like it was an object In gift-wrapped boxes With gift receipts taped on After few times use They went to the store They got a full refund He never got back What he freely gave I’m still young He thought I’m just enjoying life He thought I really care about those women He thought I’m being honest about my feelings He thought I’ll find the right one this way He thought Twenty-eight women later He was more degraded Than ever before The number wasn’t impressive He certainly wasn’t proud He’d rather it roll back To zero or maybe one or two At the most. Only those few First cuts who left their mark Were still on his mind from Time to time or all the time Depending on how honest He was on that particular day He’s a suicide case He feels sick to his stomach Unsteady, faint, vertigo He falls - falls - has fallen He feels a hand at his neck His chest tight like a rope Was wrapped around it Tied to a pick up truck And drove forwards at full speed Clutching him ever tighter His breath sapped from his lungs “I only want to be a better man A better man than I am To live and not to fear To thrive on happiness Not fall into the same old trap Of mortal hungers” These words loop in his head Like a broken record Lights fade from his eyes A ringing floods his ears Like the dial-tone of an old phone Left hanging on the cord When a call is long over The choice is his to try again His alone Either to live on - or - To die a lump on the stone cold floor He starts to cry He’s full of fear - but - No one’s half as anxious as the crowd