There is blade, There is blood.
In that blood he sees 55 years of his existence.
Blood graces the white floor just as failure graces his existence.
He look long back in his life, He sees a 16 year old so certain to love his loved ones forever.
At 18, he loses his friends, finds new ones but cherishes old memories nevertheless.
At 26, he finds love and a job and the meaning of life, He must live happily ever after.
At 36, he must not speak of love ever again. He crawls back to his parent's embrace and tries to find a life.
At 45, he is trying to build his children a good life and realises he would never see his own parents ever again.
At 50, his shelf is filled with colourful anti-depressant pills. He smiles anyways, He loves anyways or at least he tries to.
At 55, he decides he have seen enough. Curls up in the farthest corner of his bathroom. Cries just like the day he was born.
Relives ever good memory and sleeps the best he have ever slept in the 55 years of his life.
********
This poem is again depressing and really close to my heart. My heart goes out for every parent who is fighting with their inner demons but still manages to provide best to their children.
"I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times.… So I am doing what seems the best thing to do.”
- Virginia Woolf
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Poetry"Cigarette or any other drugs don't nearly cause as much destruction as our thoughts do. So, don't leave them Unspoken" ****
