Nov 15, 2016
Son's Dream
Selfless and young This boy who carries the gun Cocked and loaded He aims towards the sun Pulling the trigger The dark came quicker Destructive and clean The way of making the means Turns sad, falls lonely But the boy is mad and quite hungry No ache to feel loved Satisfied with his own blood Wasted again, feeling distorted Just digging it deeper This hole that's been corded The wires overhead He grabs to get out Too much weight to bear So he lets out a shout The air is dead Not a word to be said Careless whispers As the hole turns red Stop the heart Of this son's cold dream
