Yesterday the poor boy lost his head
The post mortem says his heart cracked
Burden of unlived feelings, words unsaid.
“Things are never that bad,
That they can’t be good” he said
When he knew it, why did he keep sad
Crying over what was gone, was he mad
No, I guess he was just a simple lad
Nothing came to whom even though he had
Given his all, he shot his wad.
Since he preferred passion to fad
He went too deep, too far ahead
With never-ending love, he formed a duad
As the tree attaches to the dryad.
He bound to his promises ironclad
But it was the nymph who left him bested.
When his heart was torn to shred
He was disillusioned, filled with dread
Further and back, all roads jammed
Chewed on bubbles of hope, but gad!
Treacherous memories stuck like brad
“There are many other roads to tread”
Thus he tried to distract himself but instead
The falsification of his convictions myriad
Had extinguished all his guiding lampad.
He could feel lighter being a dope head
But the hangover left him weaker and sad.
He never thought of dying, tried to be glad
But the smoke from his burning heart quickly spread
Burning stomach, red eyes, choked throat and head
He bent double wriggling, then tried to stand
Then he landed with a thud finally dead
The poor boy who lost his head.
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