Bad Choice
The age of 8, what a ripe time of life.
But this boy,
burdened with empty glass bottes?
Bottles that lie on the pavement next to an unconsious hand, nothing more to drain....
He was strong, from carrying his father. Everybody knew.
But was it a shame?
This boy, he leared at a young age.
Bad choices, they have ways of teaching us.
We must be willing to learn.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.