A teardrop runs freely down his face
Looking at his wrists he contemplates.
When will this fustration die
Crying his heart out as time goes by.
His new friend shouts to him in his head:
"Come make love to me on your bed.
Make a wish,
And cut your wrist."
The tears haven't dried
They fall freely on his face.
Hate has bitterly come to an end
He is not going to pretend.
He throws away his smile
And boldly trades for new.
Just to shake away the pain
Of living in shame.
Crying his heart out
He sits in silence
Thinking over the violence.
