2 December 2012
He used to have it all: Money, friends and love, A good relationship with life And the world around him. But after a while he faltered. As the years passed by he slipped And he became someone else.
His hair dyed black, Away from its natural brown. The colour he used to hold In his time of innocence. Clothes black too, dark enough To hide what else he is, Though he prefers bright colours, This way he fits in better. His eyes, bright ocean blue Lined in deep black, again Despised, colour of pitch. Runs down his face when he weeps. Scarred skin on his arms, Once blemish free and smooth, Now marred with white marks Where the pressure got too much. Black polish on his nails, Chipped and smudged away. Ugly and unforgiving; His anxiety showing through. Doped up, stupid half smile, Teeth showing, drunken eyes. Sadness as people fail to see That he is not himself.
Now he sits in the pub corner, Nursing his drink, head down. Lank hair droops over his face As he tries to see the way. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated; Whatever he took starts to kick in. And he starts to sing to himself, The songs he loved before. The time when he was a star, When he had a whole world, A love, a life, sweet wonder. Now all is gone; he has nothing.
The Man Who Lost His Way • Opuss № I