When I was a boy,
My heart resembled a rose,
Which could not see chaos,
My innocence did show.

When I became a young man,
The rose, it grew thorns,
Dark, hardened bits formed
When I was made to mourn.

It seemed life handed death to me,
Like it was running out of time,
Running out of time to break me,
That conclusion I did find.

But those deaths have not affected me
Like the living tragedies have,
And the living tragedies drive me closer,
To thoughts I once never had.

Here I am, reaching the end of adolescence,
A time that is meant to form us as people.
Here I am, feeling that I deserve more grief,
That I have always been inherently evil.

The horizon offers much for me,
But I fear it will not come easily.
Then again, it could not be worse
Than what life has dealt me habitually.

So, onward I will march,
As I have done for quite a while.
Though the bullets strike me often,
I will somehow endure this trial.