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Topsy-turvy
His master pieces consist of a carved wrist
and a rope laceration around his pale slender neck.
Suicidal in his mind, he is.
But makes the normal excuse
When asked, why he hasn't took his life.
"I don't know"
His leaden gray eyes
match perfectly with this brumous November morning.
Walking through the mist clouded streets,
How could he have seen the headlights?
Leaves are slowly turning their yearly autumn colors,
And falling to the dew tinted grass, stained red with a fifteen year olds blood.
Who lies silently, Staring at the silver sky, tears clinging to his eyes.
His screams are merely whispered words
that barely make their way passed his cerise lips.
With rapidly going deaf ears, he hears the sharp shrill sound of his assailants desperate get away, and oddly he frowns..
He can feel death seeping into his skin, and wrapping around his broken bones.
And suddenly he realizes.
"I don't want to die"
