My Juliet, 5 : 2

His quill has gathered dust since Juliet passed,

The inspiration's left him, it would seem.

Clueless as to how long this will last;

He barely sleeps, and rarely does he dream. 

Shallow and indulgent he's become;

A nameless girl sleeps naked in his bed. 

He feels like garbage -- likely too much rum,

Pain, like thunder, rumbles through his head.

Rising from his bed at nearly dusk, 

Going through the motions, dead inside; 

Shambling through the days an empty husk,

Knowing there's but one end to this ride.

He grabs the pills from out the medicine chest,

First takes two, then swallows all the rest. 

----

© Jackson Cambridge, 2015.

(To be continued, I promise.)