Words of a Mad Man

Story of a Boy

I've tried, I've failed;
I've thrown it all away.
But look at me now,
Please, come sit and stay.

Let me tell you a story:
A story of a boy,
Neglected and torn,
He is pain's broken toy.

There is something special,
About how he hurts;
And how he is able
To stem the bloody spurts.

But when I say special,
I mean damned deranged.
Since the thing he hasn't tried,
Is bringing himself to change.

This boy has seen pain,
Oh, how has he seen pain.
But there's yet to be a thing,
That has left really slain.

He suffers in silence,
Awaiting his quiet quietus;
All while the scars scream,
"Go ahead and fight us!"

And like a faithful man,
He stands in ritual;
But a ritual of pain,
With his wrist over a bloody bowl.

And like a beast
He lives his life;
For life is too short,
To give in to strife.

Later on in his life,
He sits alone in a room;
His lonely apartment,
In a building meant to loom.

Alone, alone, alone he lives;
The people in his life gone,
Alone, alone, alone he dies;
As his life is too much to go on.

Later yet he is lowered,
Six feet under he is slumbered;
And the seats around, all but empty;
As he isn't one to be remembered;

Rest now poor little boy.
As our story now concludes;
But there's another one lurking,
To which this horrid to preclude.

But that is for another time,
As now I would hate to bore.
But as for me, don't fret;
You shouldn't worry, never more.