His Suicidal Freedom

A poem

Photo by Andreea Popa on Unsplash

When the pain became too much for him to bear, he cried;
that was the only way his pain would fade;
But they called him names and told him that boys don’t cry;

A few years later, when he cried, they questioned if he was fit to be an adult;
When he cried a few days back, they called him an attention seeker,
Now, over his mangled suicidal corpse,
they posted RIP messages to his social media timeline.

Thanks for reading, please spare some time for a few of my other poems.

Waltz of the Undead

God, Come See Me in Hell