The many hands that reached out to him,

failed him.

They pushed him away,

Accussing him of things that he didn't know about.

He tried to smile, 

Tried to fight  against it too,

But then what was his life for if he wasn't even die the way he wanted to?

He had chased him dreams in hopes of something  dreamlike,

Maybe fame could make him smile?

Maybe luxury would give him satisfaction?

Then why was it that all it did was drag him down more?

The smiles he gave were taken for granted,

The eternities he fought for breathing were just mere seconds,

Hell was here.

Why live like this when you were going to die anyway?

Why live just because he couldn't die?

Why live?

When breathing he was was an unfortunately unsuccessful young man,

In death he was quite the promising unfortunate young man.