His Sad Story Poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo

His Sad Story



My head ached
The intense sun burned my skin
My view grew blurred
As my head lay
On a rough cemented floor
I yanked at my tattered worn out shirt and ragged trousers
As it contributed to my very pain

I stood up and my stomach stood after me
I noticed how empty it was
It was hollow enough to echo
I steadily gripped the metal object
It was close to me and the only means of my survival
A switchblade
I supported myself with a stick as I went

Into and into a building
It was dark to my own supposed advantage
I was so weak that I felt like I would pass out
'But I'm strong, ' I thought, 'I'll make it'
I grabbed that golden sculpture, and I heard a shot
The last I ever heard till I saw myself on the floor soaked in blood
With people around me listening to this story

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