Nobody had rain in his eyes,
A spherical lump in his throat,
His voice vibrating like a cat,
Irresolute of his melody,
He lost his speech,
Benumbed by the thoughts of his past,
The sun that shone on his feet,
Her golden hues were now grey,
The beautiful red rose he put on his window
To please his eyes and soothe his wounds
Was as brown as a berry,
Whether the world was spherical or flat,
It mattered no longer,
Only if he could jump and fall into the eternal void,
Perhaps emptiness would satisfy him,
Silence would be his best company ever,
Love was nothing but the equivalent of hate,
He loved himself as much he hated himself,
The paper he left on the corner of the table
Before departing was blank, yet rich of the unspoken words
Like the cemetery that holds many unused talents,
It bore the same weight his shoulders bore,
You couldn’t lift nor read it until you wore his shoes,
To comprehend the distance he walked to find peace,
His shoes told the story of the walk he was prepared to walk,
Hence the dust on them,
Before he decided on his fate,
That it was beside his loving mother,
Who loved him dearly amidst this world’s resentment,
In her presence he was Somebody,
In her absence he perceived himself as Nobody,
Just as this unjust world did,
How he wished he wasn’t there to witness life
As it leaved her eyes,
Now he had to live with all of that,
But not for the rest of his life,
Somebody lived for a moment,
Nobody was dead for the rest of his life until the very end,
Not that anyone cared, but her mother,
Who wished him great things on her last gasps.