he dragged his feet
through the hallways and classrooms.
he didn't answer questions,
he didn't raise his head.
he had no jumper
to cover his scars
so people saw them and pointed
and he didn't look at them.
he had no strength
to run for the bus
so he walked home
in the merciless weather.
his mother yelled at him
for being ten minutes late.
she called him "useless"
and he went straight to his room.
he locked his door
and played guitar loudly.
he blocked out everything
that was beyond his bedroom.
he liked it that way,
when he was alone.
he didn't have friends
because he didn't want them.
he knew people didn't like him
so he didn't try to talk to them.
they all called him names
but he didn't listen to them.
all he wished for
was to be left alone.
he wished the world would empty
leaving only him and his soul.
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poetryi won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
