(This might be triggering)
A small boy in my class,
Liked to draw.
People picked on him..
But nobody saw,
The drawings he drew,
The colors of red.
Only if it was on paper,
But he did it,
On his beautiful wrist instead.
With a blade,
He sliced,
Hidden away from the people at home.
He sat and cried,
All alone.
YOU ARE READING
A Handful Of Darkness
PoetryDreams turn to nightmares, Nightmares turn to dreams. Wishes turn to fears, Or maybe that's what we believe. Tears turn to smiles, And the pain goes away. Maybe one day, You'll be okay.
