The Falling of a Father
Number nine is his name,
He was just a boy running over his lost blood.
His unknown cries stare blindly,
He is trauma,
The warning signs aren't red in his mind...
Nothing was there to stop him.
Number seven is a little girl,
the wind calls her name.
Her letters left with the trains...
All the messages in broken bottles appear her gaze.
Her eyes are colored with rust and amber,
the falling of her father, and season she forgot him.
Speed, a moment of momentum,
The memories are grim.
The reaper, carries the weight of nightmares on one limb.
Heaviness travels, sometimes in boxes...
The ease of pain comes with unloading.
Forty-two double digits moving up, counting on the time.
Slow down motion.
Its over; its overdosing.
Opiate addiction cries,
craving is the opium.
Its needy; it desires the ocean,
drowning while its floating;
breathing while it bleeds.
Plastic straws, water bottles,
he was wrapped up in suffocation.
Her cup is half empty, his half full of dehydration.
She left flowers in it,
He stayed and the poppies died with him.
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This Poems Story
(Read out loud). Dedicated to my fathers addiction, depression, and suicide.