This is one of my self-therapy poems. So I do not intend to change it, but feel free to comment on it. I would like to kow what you think. Dark, silence, whispers in the distance A pain in one's gut ever-gnawing Waiting, waiting, waiting for the death right at your doorstep Puffy-eyed visitors are your only comfort Blood, skin, and bone is what you are and will remain until the morphine takes over all Frightful visions enter your mind Guilt and regret haunt your only memories Soon you will be gone. In memory of a man I did not know well, but loved dearly.