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Untitled

July 3, 2014
By Anonymous

The pale bathroom walls
are only as lonely,
as his mind.
His reflection,
distorted on the tiles
disturbed only by
drops of blood.
The crisp white
turns crimson
while cries erupt,
not in pain, but sorrow
hushed by his bloody hand
not in fear, but as courtesy
to his parents a room over
not wanting to burden them
not wanting to be found
vision blurry with tears
he finally hits the ground.

© Anonymous

The author's comments:
its close and personal for a few reasons but this one was written after an incident with a friend.
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