I Hate This Book (, Might Delete)

I Am Mood Apparently- Poem/short thing

America lay against the brick Wall.
Tears streaming down his bruised Face.
Oh he wished he was Tall.
They maybe they wouldn't hurt him so much At least he had Grace.
The Trauma never left though.
Because of them every single touch hurt.
He didn't wanted to feel like this forever. He didn't want to wake up everyday scared anymore.
He didn't want to fake smile anymore. He wanted to feel a real one, He wanted to be heal form all of this damage.
If only he knew how to.
If he did he do it now without a doubt.
The pain was overbaring
His brain replayed the awful memories on a loop.
How would he explain the new bruise to Ireland and South Africa?
He could blame them on Britain or Spain. That'll stop the questioning
Or he could say he was wrestling with Australia and New Zealand and that it got out of hand, but he would make sure then know that the duo might good.
America cried out in pain her looked down to see blood leaking down his new scars.

He brought his knees to chest as hugged himself.
Crying into his bruised uncover knees
Biting his lip, trying to mute himself.
Rubbing his bare knees together wanting more warmth.
Wishing for his Mother embrace.
But she was gunned.
Why would his Brother this?
Why would the person he loved the most in the World hurt him so badly.