The boy who cried lies,
sat alone on his bed, asking what the hell was going through his head.
...
The boy who cried lies,
often cried himself to sleep, since all he could do was sit and weep.
....
This boy who cried,
Often bled
Often wept
Often punished himself for the things people have said.
...
Everyday as he walked through the door his mother would often ask, what's going through your head?
...
The rope was tight and that action quick. It silenced him abruptly from his last, final meek
"I'm OK."
