Hidden from the talents of his own blood  they smear his hope just like footsteps in mud he knew he differed by the age of 3 when dreams became a reality the haunting images of a darker kind but they were only found inside of his mind he’d try to speak but something made him scream defeat perhaps it was him longing to fit in that cursed his life with the passion of a knife holding him hostage and the ******* that held him together couldn’t acknowledge that he wanted to be free but with free comes a fee that for shore will take his life forever more
but something had him by the core holding him on by a thread laying him back on his bed forcing him to take his meds he begs for his legs to work with his mind an run cause 15 years of being done  is no fun for the mind that holds the loaded gun and the one who perches form the hell of help is the nun of pressured youth and those who stand in line at the booth wondering when there chance to be allowed in society won’t bring them brutality