The Deth Of A Good Kid Poem by justin mills

the cuts begin 2 heal
but the pain never dies
it stays in this hand
and forces down this blade

for the blade is like a drug
and the pain will hide
but only for a while
and that makes him smile

as the pain starts to mild
and he begins to smile
with tears rolling down
he stops and frowns

he relized whut he did
so he ran and hid
but he couldn't stand the pain
so he disided to slit the vain

and with one final cry
he said good bye
and he slit his wrist
then fell in the mist.