Sitting silent in the back of the room,

Next to dead flowers way past bloom,

With black nails and spiked hair,

Blood shot eyes and a vacant stare,

The once happy teen watches his blood fall,

While he contemplates it all,

Like when his parents kissed him goodnight,

Comforted him in his fright,

Back then his parents smiled at each other across the table,

And Sunday mornings were for cartoons on cable,

Years passed changing everything for that boy,

Finding out emotions are just a toy,

His parents only told him to grow up,

At his first play neither of them showed up,

Dad ate dinner at work and Mom always cried,

And Sunday mornings were spent in his favorite place to hide,

Now his parents don't even say "I love you Son",

And they never notice the things he's done,

Mom and Dad sleep in seperate beds,

Curse words coming from their heads,

While their only child cowers in the corner of the living room,

Among forgotten memories way past bloom,

Letting all his pain drip out his wrist,

Hoping to find his childhood bliss,

Trying to make everything alright,

By ending his miserable fight.