Literature
The Kid
He wishes he could forget,
forget about his life,
forget about the past,
forget about the knife.
His life is hurting,
crumbling to the floor,
no one there to save him,
no one at the door.
no one cares for the kid,
with the scars on his heart,
hes just another face,
fading in the dark.
No one looks passed,
his innocent smile,
the kid has been dead,
inside for awhile.
His flesh will wither,
his heart will stop,
the voices in his head,
were the ones on top.
They won the battle,
and they won the war,
he has nothing,
anymore.