The consolation of the poor
Now this is the story of a little man
He works when it's late at night
And he sleeps all the darn day
The he wakes and tries again
Doesn't have a friend nor a single goal
It's a pickaxe on a mine of coal
There's no meaning on his life not a single one
A broken man with a thousand wounds
Can't you see?
He always bleeds
And his eyes
His lost and blind
When the night becomes the day you'll see the light
But he looks at his nightstand
He stumbs across the room just to get his pills
Just to avoid a heart attack
A colder sip of water and another pill
He's not free and nothing is
Anxiety is real just that not for him
He can't aford something like it
When he cries
And there's no one
He holds himself now
You would let go at once
And the time starts to scarce
And it has gone to his head
He knows it's too late now
But there's nothing else to say
A long life that never started
A long life all by himself
Everything that serves
Always comes to an end
Originally a song but i converted it into a short poem/story
Hope ye like it x
Posted May 1, 2026, 2:30 AM UTC