By Storm December
You came to me with broken glass,
And told me that you found your past.
At the bottom of a bottle,
In the shallow end of sorrow.
You cut your hands and bleeding stood,
And promised me you'd do no good.
Your hate will breed new seeds of life,
And swallow like the dark of night.
You press fast forward on your watch,
And pray the time will never stop.
I looked ahead and saw you there,
But you were dead and penniless.
It seems your hate for living things,
Could not buy immortality.
You will know your time is through,
With nothing left to fuel your feud.
Better-spent time to use,
Helping those destitute.
Your will be good but know you must,
You're no better than any of us.
You drown your sorrows in a bottle,
And pray at night for better tomorrows.