He was a bad boy
because he didn’t care.
He saw a girl as nothing but a toy
and inhaled cigarette smoke like air.

His cap turned the wrong way
he was ready for battle.
His eyes fastened upon his next prey,
in the dark streets of Seattle.

Swallowing cute lilac pills
he survived the day.
He didn’t pay the bills
but who cares anyway?

The bad boy had after many years
stopped caring about his health.
Once he took one too many beers
lost his money and chose to resort to stealth.

His parents didn’t suspect a thing,
nor did the ones calling themselves friends.
To them, he was still their king
and they let him borrow their pens.

With a pencil in one hand
and ***** in the other.
Hoping someone would understand,
he bled out the thoughts he hadn’t even dared tell his brother.