December 29, 2008
By Alejandra Duenas SILVER, Chicago, Illinois
Alejandra Duenas SILVER, Chicago, Illinois
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

The ideas for parents of children are nightmares
They torment them, they torture, they scream out and shout them
They are punks, with mo-hawks, faux hawks and spikes on
Wearing tripp pants with black shirts and eyeliner falling
He's a gothic, sitting in the attic with no light
Cold in his zone, nothing matters, he's confused and just lost it
On his walls you can see blood stains and some scratches
On his look you can see he is dead and some aches
As he stands up sore from a big damn walk
There's blood next to him, on a fight they knock him out
He's knuckles are messed up, he has been hitting them too hard
His eyes full of fear, cringe and wonder at the time
He can't cry even if he wants
The last time he did it was an ocean between his eyes
There's nothing he could say
He lacked words and regretted
But as the night would come, that poor kid felt strong
His veins turned to be purple, his pupils would be red
With his hair covering his face..what else could he say?
The kid had lost it, it included faith and hope
He thought death would be the best way
To escape of what he called was living hell
He was planning to hang up himself
He couldn't cut himself, it would be too much pain
But anyways, who would care if he left?
No one would notice, no one would give a care..
His life didn't made sense, he was such a mess
The kid disappointed in life, with a lot of fear, about to give up
He wasn't expecting for anyone, not even himself
Saying goodbye to the world, full of disappointment and sorrow
It would be suicide with no note, no letters, no words.
Just a simple boy hanging up from above

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book