classic purple

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The End

Why was i so afraid?
To stumble on my thoughts;
I like the boy, actually loved.
Wasn't breathtaking or elegant,
His pockets bled middle-class mediocrity.
My heart he held ransom,
In his eyes i found home.
I cried myself to sleep on Monday,
Mourned my soul on Tuesday,
But on Sunday the sun,
In all its brightness shone,
In hie eerie eyes.
Frail and fragile his frame was,
Now a sneeze, then his lung wheezed,
Nothing in retrospect i cherished.
Funny i did mourn his loss.

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