A few hours of sleep,

Or maybe less.

His flat's askew.

His hair's a mess.

.

With cane in hand,

He hobbles 'round.

He's always sad,

Heartbreak abound.

.

He's now alone,

When once was not.

His friend is gone,

His enemy shot.

.

He must return

To his loving fans.

They've been so bored

Without his demands.

.

"He's coming back!"

He swears and swears.

"He's a man of truth,

Of lies and care."

.

He got fiction on

That scarf he wore,

The one that's blue,

But now no more.

.

It's not red

And black, dark hues.

Because what if

What he said was true?

.

And so our friend

Just sits and sighs.

Another day gone;

He still can't say goodbye.

.

He runs a hand

Through his full-grey hair

He rests his cane

Against the stair.

.

He rests a bit,

A few more hours.

Then he's up again,

Cursing dreams of that damned tower.

.

And Molly calls;

She's dreamt the same.

A man jumping off,

And there ends the game.

.

It goes on much more

Than that sometimes.

He's had the dream

A thousand times.

.

A cloaked man stands

Atop Saint Bart's.

He says goodbye;

His descension starts.

.

John wakes up cold

And lost and scared.

Praying that

His friend's been spared.

.

His sister has

Forgiven him.

"For what?" he asks.

"It's she who's sinned."

.

She's taken up

The flask in hand.

Again, he says,

"She's fickle as sand."

.

Can't talk to her,

Nor him nor she,

And Hudson's just

Alone as he.

.

And where is he

That hides away?

He's among us now,

A ghost astray.

.

He's that man

On the sidewalk there,

That vagrant soul

With the blank stare.

.

His disguise is good,

Or so John thinks.

But what if his

Is a boat that sinks?

.

A car that wrecks

A pilot who calls

"God save us, please!"

A man who falls.

.

John just can't

help but think:

'Tis he that's died,

Who's missing a link.

.

Stones weigh down

His heavy feet.

His limbs are numb;

He struggles up the street.

.

The weather's been

Just properly sour

Since his friend was pulled

To the grey, cold ground.

.

And so John sits

And stares and mopes.

That smiling face

Is one that hopes.

.

Bullet holes for eyes,

And yellow paint.

Thereupon the wall,

It lies in wait.

.

Much like John,

It is alone.

Isolated in

Its jaded moan.

.

No love has risen

From the ashes burnt.

So charred, his life,

So filled with hurt.