It's the end of the week,
my shadow is gone again.
Now nothing is beside me,
and thats always how it's been.
My reflection isn't showing, ?
my vital signs are flat.
No light in this room before me,
I'm just wondering where I'm at.
The life has been taken,
the mute boy lost his sound.
Once again I waken,
floating above the ground.
Nothing seemed right before this,
but I gues it's out to be.
The life of my redemtion,
and reflection I still can't see.
Ryan Nigh
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/end-of-the-week/
