Teen Violence

May 25, 2012
By Anonymous

Bottles break against a wall
Shards of glass slowly fall
Screams echo through my ears
Every face stained with tears

Flashing lights, blue and red
Someone's sinking dead
Holding her in my cut up hands
Softly embraced through her end

I stare at him through plexi glass
And sit in silence till the hour's past
Quietly getting up to walk away
Loathing the next upcoming day

Mother's casket sits alone
With her name engraved in stone
Isolated, desolate, so far gone
The preachers words start at dawn

Seven years later, speaking to a crowd
Voicing what my mother never said aloud
"Everyone has their story," I said
"Mine ended up with her dead."

The author's comments:
I was inspired by a classmate who had witnessed abuse.

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