weird dreams i make into poems.

And as tears stream down your back,
Know that,
He does not cry for me.

He cries for the endless possibilities.
The future he had imagined,

The pain he thought he wouldn’t have to face.

So as he pulls you closer into the night,
And chokes midway,
Gasping for air,
Hoping this was the end of it,

Know it’s because he could have been better,
Know it’s because he wants to be better.

Know it’s because he doesn’t know how to be better.

And what a sad fate that is.




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