Poor Boy Poem by kharon march

Poor Boy



He was fifteen when he attempted suicide, not because he wanted to but because his heart had long since died and there was no prospect that it would survive so what would be the point in living half alive. His personality was built upon scars and the fallacy that he would one day retain a since of normality among-st the rubble and devastation that he knew as reality. He would transition day to day with no purpose resembling in apparition destined to roam, he longed for a house a place in which he could call home. He would wonder about the street, no real destination known... no motivation of the feet, he would cry under the embrace of night only to be comforted by the stars illuminating light. The breeze that would bend and stroke his skin was the only thing reminiscent of affection that he had, he would pretend that it was the tender touch of his mom and dad. And when the sun would brake the day he would drift into sleep praying that he would fade away.

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