Those lackluster smiles,
once shining and showing your bliss,
are proof that your different
and that times do change.
That brilliance worn away,
by the cruel disappointments of life.

Your knuckles lay shattered,
once holding back those enemies,
are proof of your weakness
and that pain does exist.
That strength taken out,
by the dilemma of your confusion.

Your hands blistered,
once grasping that shovel,
digging your grave to be.
That skin torn apart,
by the longing of your death.

Your life now dissipating,
once holding you to this world,
proof that your actions weren't in vain.
That soul ripped from,
and the journey to the after.
 
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