Blue.

 

a drop of viscous blood

crawls down like a vicious flood

from atop the table

lies a young boy’s hand

dreams filled with a lot of fable

mind sinking like a quicksand.

 

oh who the boys here is

lying on the table

gone to abyss

whose journey began from a cradle.

stories, rumours, whispers and more

filled around the halls like folk lore

they pull the corpse onto the ground

underneath the cut to their frown

see a blade with a soaked up note

“this suffering ends” he wrote.

 

blaming themselves of the fog

through which they never saw the signs

 as it rained, as it poured

in and out those tears they flowed

and yet they yell, “no signs he showed!”

 

dead was the boy on the table

smiling through the pain ensemble

laughing through the trembling trauma

living a dead life full of lie

in front of his parents’ eye

 

how he wished he knew happiness

how he wished to live a life full greenness

he was left with life of blue

now on the table turning blue too.