Guess it's not a myth to me that men cry

They just cry to the hearing of the spirit 

Flashing a smile as they slowly die inside 

With no shoulder to sober out the pains

They fade from existence without a trace

He drinks a lot to hallucinate a better life

A good life without complains and blames

When he provides and get thanked for it

His kids smiling, for a bright future awaits 

His wife, spreading his deeds as the gospel 

A man's life is a cycle with a deadline plan

Just a job without a retirement plan for him

All he prays for is to spend his time at home

To see his wife and get to play with his kids

Guess a man's life isn't a bed of roses 

The Poet