He sits on his bed and stares at the wall.

“Faggot”, “Weak”, “Loser”

He’s heard it all.

No escape, no escape.

He must get out.

His eyes flitter about

And fall on the gun in his hands.

So heavy. So smooth.

He puts the barrel to his temple.

One little twitch and his life will be through.

The words will no longer flood his head.

Will they be sorry? Will they care when he’s dead?


He’s been dead for a while.

Gliding through life as if a ghost.

He knows his dog will be the only one to miss him most.

They all noticed.

They all saw the scars on his wrist.

His parents hid what they knew, at his own risk.

The loner who sat in the corner,

He could’ve been saved.

If only his peers had bother to ask of his name.

But it’s all in the past.

The damage is done.


With just one little twitch,

His life will all stop.


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