Author's note: This poem was meant to be about grief and mental illness, but the patient derailed the poem, oh well.

Anyway, check out Sonenclaire! She is a tremendously gifted author that just is amazing at writing plot, description, characters, and pulling out your heartstrings with her stories featuring an accurate portrayal of both mental illness and grief.

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  Pieces strewn across the floor,

an older man at the door.

'Leave me alone', I call out

'Everyone thinks I'm a lout'

  He points to the sky

and promises I'll soon fly.

'Humans can't do that,

they'll just splat'.

  'What if we dream up a world

where your doubts are furled?

Restore life to the way it once was

if you but follow our cause'.

  I don't hesitate,

my tears soon abate.

'Let the games begin',

I reply with a Cheshire grin.

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Vocab:

Lout-awkward stupid person (usually used for males or boys)

furled- neatly or securely rolled up

abate- to decrease in intensity

Author's note: This song was influenced by various songs I'm listening to right now, but was written with a specific theme in mind-grief and the various ways it is channeled.(In this case...well you can guess it might not be the right way.)

And yes, a certain character did inspire it. (Why does that character keep inspiring things? Idk.)