A teenage boy,

Standing in the doorway.

He doesn't know what to do,

Because his friend's inside, dying.

He could talk about old times,

He could joke around and make light.

But still he doesn't know what to do,

Because his friend's his best friend.

Finally, he walks in the cold, sterile room,

He takes a deep breath and looks at his friend.

The boy on the bed is not the man he once knew,

The man was not as sickly as this child.

The teenager takes another breath,

And opens his mouth to speak.

But he still does not know what to say,

Because how can he say "I love you"?

His friend smiles faintly,

And says it for him.

A tear traces a way down both of their cheeks,

And they understand.

One last breath,

One last gasp,

And one of them leaves forever,

But leaves his love behind.


I don't know where the inspiration for this one came from. Hmmm… I dunno. I think I wanted to do a poem that told a story but I'm not too good at those. So… yeah… this is the result. Story poems done by me turn out odd…