Reclines his chair,
Exhales the darker air,
And breathes in another bit.
Lays in the chair,
Out the window he stares,
To the sky,
Clouds drifting by.
Tears fill his eyes,
And he wonders- wonders why.
It wasn't his fault,
But he blames himself;
For in her blood there was stealth.
He knew she had a problem,
A condition with her health.
He gave her the glass,
Through her lips the liquid passed.
Sitting on the ledge,
She felt dizzy in the head.
Passing out, with the breeze,
She got weak;
He fell to his knees.
She fell out the window,
From three stories up,
And on the floor lay her cup.
It's still there,
And he glances at it from the chair,
As he looks down from the window time to time.
He puts down what is in his hand,
And goes to the ledge,
And there he stands.
He looks down,
To the ground,
There's still a bit of blood left around.
The tears fall from his eyes,
Just like she had did, three stories high.
Then he stops back and kneels to the floor.
He'd lost his world and so much more.
Out the window, the saying goes,
And he is one who truly knows.
Into a ball, he curls himself,
And just like the past few weeks,
Falls asleep in his tears,
On his pillow of sorrow.
Today will be just like tomorrow:
He'll sit in his chair,
His piece in hand;
Sit there and smoke it,
As he looks out to the land.
He'll stand by the window,
Cry and lay down,
And wake up where he fell,
Luckily close to the ground.
© 1999-2002 bounce.to/blacklabb
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