Veins bulge upwards out of your rugged hands, criss-crossed with lines,
Pumping hardworking blood around your body,
Your blood, my blood,
...
Mohawk standing like a battle flag,
Darkened eyeliner, metal-cut nose and lips,
Flesh carved into words exposed on his bare back,
Low slung belt, with chain heavy jeans.
...
and burn, burn,
to the smoke in the sky,
burn, burn, burn,
the night’s a wolf’s cry,
...
I Lie. On the dusty floor.
Stretched out, while those around me
Cheer. Or cry. Or scream.
And raise their fists aloft.
...
o why o why o why,
i really want to die,
im gonna try to fly
to fly into the sky
...
Curled up, foetal.
Every muscle in my body tensed against the earth.
Fingers clenched.
Eyes clamped shut.
...
15 year old from reigate, england.)
No Hope To Life
Grey street corner
A frozen room
Lonely bed
A dying moon
Litter swept streets
And templed stars
Blurred rising sun
Hits burnt out cars.
Hate scrawled text
On bricked in walls
From cancered branch
A last leaf falls
The knife drawn streets
Barred with shops,
The downward wound
That never stops.
A Frostbitten tree
A pock marked road.
First morning truck
With a heavy load.
Gun ruled streets
Of bricks and knives
Discarded dreams
And shattered lives.
A world of pain
A world of snow
Nowhere to leave
No place to go
With no hope
To a world forlorn
No route to life
A child is born