Against The Grain

CATEGORY

life

Views: 256

rainstorms back to back, his blood is of black

he used to extend his folding arms

but kept sinking into a world of harm

he got to thinking

alone in the p.m. hours

alcohol showers

his heart more sour than ever

severed from the mental hurt

scarred from the grit of the dirt

migraines and stains on my shirt

so tired

come reap the flame from this fire

its time he defend

contend to a world pretend

my help was all in vain

purple rain view

glaring out window panes

my circle is now few

gave hundreds a helping hand

but they soared off

finger amputation in return

always seeming at a loss