November cold complimented with sharp breaths as he
Edged his way into the concrete jungle of teens,
Christmas cold still slicing him outside but
Hot and humid within when he is greeted with
Horror and hate.
Smiles in school became machetes outside,
Amongst whom he found a few friends:
A new sharp six-foot blade in his side.
Alone, fresh springs formed in his eyes that
never stopped.
bang, crash, slap…
the same ‘old fun’ found him,
no forest could hide him;
his safety all scorched to charcoal.
his friends, still the knife in his side,
their hits could lead to death,
leaving them would lead to death,
staying with them will lead to death.
His old friends were tulips he called:
Too soft, too silly, too stupid.
now he is the one scorched stupid,
stabbed till he is soft and beaten
broken to where the pain cripples.
bulges under his blazer hide bruises,
bruises that hid the terminal pain you couldn’t see.
no smile he sees can make him feel that
Silly, soft, stupid happiness he
Used to.
he yearns for change,
for a pause, stop or reset.
he prays the time will come when that
wedged blade which twists and blends his
heart will
force a stop on his own clock.