The man that was me

In a steady flow going down this drain,

My life blood drained on, leaving pain.

A deep searing pain, but I felt it not.

For by my own I have been burnt.

My once tender soul destroyed.

Torn asunder by my beloved.

My head is bent, in a bow.

Who will want me now?

Was what I thought.

It will matter not.

For in one hour,

All went sour.

I saw a man,

From a fan,

Hanging

Dead.

The

Man

Is

I

©Aweni

Imagecredit: EvgeniT

via Daily Prompt: Mope

• Daily prompt
• Death
• Depression
• Poetry