"Good Mourning Mister"

Here in a room, with a glass full of liquor.

And crushed to know, I desperately do need her.

Standing there, staring right towards a mirror.

Feeling helpless, like a tragic bum filled with anger.


Soft waves, and russet brown eyes. God! you make me sicker.

Working, looking like a piece of rubbish.

People asking me, "What is the matter, mister?!"

Just looking up, like a little boy with a face filled with horror.

And all I want to know is when the next time is that I can see her.

And there in front of a mirror with a glass full of liquor.

Is me. A man filled with anger.

Feeling so sick and so rubbish.

In front of a coffin, with the love of my life inside it.


Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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