On a Sad Note
You go through life existence regretting the little things in life,
this man said.
His face beaten up by the ages,
a figure head to life experience,
and so I listened.
On a sad note.
When he painted his pain on every word he let out,
because the art he portrayed to me wasn't of light affection,
it was one of a heavy heart.
That's cracked,
almost shattered to pieces.
He let out sadness,
in a tragic whisper saying she's the only girl he always misses.
Said he should have gotten her roses.
Should have taken her to changing places and not just the constant dotted covers that patterned his bed rest.
Said he should have gotten her that new phone that would have kept them in touch always,
because even he smiled beneath the sadness when he remembered that she was nosy.
This broken man,
teary in his dread voicing thoughts like an already drowned victim,
stretching out to the distant light,
hoping someone would take is hand.
He spoke with a severed heart.
His then expression, like a barren field frozen with snow.
He callously stared with sorrowed eyes and he didn't see me,
only his self before the pain.
Before the poison of heart ache expressed it self clinging to his cold blood through spiteful veins.
It hurt.
I remember him pull his hands up to his face,
like he could no longer bare the burden of everything that he had learned.
The girl he spurned.
The images that flooded his head like flames,
they burned him on the inside.
It hurt.
Like badly played notes on an old piano.
He never did say he loved her back,
the words stuck on his throat.
His left now,
exuding the mournful essence that says the woman that loved him was taken by deaths grasp,
in the form of cancer.
On a sad note.
26/02/18?
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