How much can one dead boy bleed?
Not a single drop.
Yet look at this dead boy.
His arms are stained.
By tears and blood.
Poor little dead boy.
He is dead inside.
He wishes to be generally.
His mom will cry.
His dad will curse the sky.
Neither of them knew.
Their son was dead.
He had been for a while.
Poor little dead boy.
He silently cried every night.
Tied a noose.
Gathered pills.
Cut his arms and legs.
He tried to numb himself.
The light in his eyes faded.
As did his joy.
Poor little dead boy.
Never was happy.
Always bullied.
Always hurt.
They said “kill yourself.”
Finally he did.
Poor little dead boy.
They never learned.
So many little dead boys.
All because they never learned just how much dead boys hurt too.