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He will not tell,
his doors are shut.
How he fell,
and on his throat a cut.

The suffering he hides,
and all the tears he's shed.
In his mind there is a tide,
that is above his head.

Swallowing him completely,
as his life fades away.
To him it's how sweetly,
his life ends just as gray.

No color to him,
it all has been drained.
If his heart was a lim,
it'd be amputated cause he was pained.

He looks to the sky,
there is no God he sees.
Only hell so he asks why,
as he's being pulled in by weeds.

His hands shake,
as he holds a box.
How his heart aches,
in pain as if hit by rocks.

On the box lay a key,
he wishes it was all a dream.
Why he asks - how can it be,
that life is on a balance beam.

He has made the choice,
with key in hand.
In his head there's a voice,
telling him he's too weak to take a stand.

The key unlocks a lock,
setting the box free.
There is no shock,
what lies inside is for he.

He has never used it,
it's an instrument of death.
In his head there's too much s***,
and soon he'll run out of breath.

His life is so f***** up,
that he wants it all to end.
It's poison in a cup,
and his wounds can't be mend.

the pain keeps getting bigger,
so he puts the gun to his head.
With that he pulls the trigger,
and now he is dead.

for HE is dead, there is no HIM, and now HIS life is at an end!

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Tags: HE, HIM, HIS, original, poem

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