The Truth Behind Words [Dark Poems ONLY]

The boy

WARNING: has a mild range of imagery.

A small shot had taken out his last breath,
And so there he laid in a bloody mess,
Though some say that he took a toxic meth,
But the judgement had not cared any less.

Hath not he been a good moral person?
If so, why the humble turned away souls?
Though some friends say his great pain had worsened.
For he was lead astray by the dark ghouls.

Deeply submerged, gone, by the great grey smoke,
Drunken, soaked, in a horrid, disgusting brew,
body so down deep, he could not revoke.
A pool of crimson in his throat out drew.

Scraped knees, broken glasses, toxic nightmares,
Words of knives, gloves of warmth, back of slashes,
A broken bloody, scissors in a pair,
a duck tape across the lips in a lash.

My first time writing an elegy — a poem consisting of an "ABAB" pattern, iambic pentameter and quatrains about the reflection of a serious topic (normally about the dead).

It's not that good — I'm terribly sorry. I'm so used to writing freestyle; it's difficult restricting my words in a certain structure and form.

Again, it's ambiguous. Some may argue that he was killed; he killed himself slowly by drugs, drinking and other horrible substances, or some may think that he ended his life...