As the stench of anger fills his glass of scotch, the darkness swarms around, enclosing his heart like a box. He sits awaiting a savior to grace him, save him from himself. But no one comes, no one stops, no one cares at all! With the blackest wings, a halo above his head. Broken, bent out of wack, he absorbs the pain from those he helps. Never to shed a tear for himself, an empath he is called, an angel to us all. Misused, his soul of weary hangs a cloak full of salted rain. Like a realm of Hades spirits, He reaches to the deep, saving those despite his own, but no one comes, no one stops, no one cares at all!
He drinks his pain, he savors the taste, despicable the flavor is. It draws his tongue and he gags on despair but he swallows it along with his pride so you don't have to carry the pain that you bear.


© Lyle Richards II