The boy was alone
The boy was hurt
The boy called for help
But no one came to help
The boy cried alone
And instead of talking
he smoked his sorrows
For he was brave
And he was not afraid
To hold death between his lips
Cause it didn't scare him
But on one sad day
the boy was gone
And he was no longer hurt and alone
But only that day people wished they helped him heal
But it was too late cause the boy was no longer here.
YOU ARE READING
𝔓𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰.
Poetrythose are poems that i have written in class, in my room, in the car basically whenever my brain spaced out. Those poems all belong to me.
