Little Boy Bleeding

Little Boy Bleeding

There once was a boy who lived without joy,
His friends called him 'Little Boy Bleeding',
When they'd go to the park he'd sit home in the dark,
Under a red light, reading.
'What's he reading?' They'd ask as he embarked on his task,
And he'd say, 'Guys my heart needs feeding.
I sit in my flat to see where I'm at,
'Cos sometimes my feelings need heeding.'

But what was he reading, this Little Boy Bleeding,
Was it Shakespeare, Shelley or Poe?
And what was he heeding while his heart was feeding,
Keenan, Yorke or Simone?
The medium he took was alas not a book,
Or a poem or play now we know,
For slowly we learned that while his heart burned,
He ingested the purest emo.

Whenever his friends tried making amends,
Or ever called him on the phone,
He'd always reply in tones somewhat shy,
'I'm alright, leave me alone.
Seriously guys, no need to advise,
Please, just leave me alone?'
Listening to sadness and songs which brought madness,
He even wrote one of his own:

"Why cannot you see that I want to be,
There like a child, kneeling.
Nobody loves death, or my wasted breath,
And why are your eyes so deceiving?
I'm missing your laugh, how did it break in half?
When it is my heart that you're stealing.
N'like a bad star, I'm falling faster,
Burning in all that I'm feeling."

But tonight while he listened his tears gently glistened,
Until down his face they were creeping.
And with pain in his mind he reached to his blind,
To cut out the light that was seeping.
With no sign of slowing the tears kept on flowing,
All over his desk they were sweeping.
Had he opened his eyes much to his surprise,
He'd have seen this tsunami of weeping.

But the boy unawares kept embracing his tears,
Flooding the words he'd been scrawling.
While his music was played, he became more dismayed
Until salty floods started falling.
Down this freshet poured, soon soaking his floor,
And the puddles just wouldn't stop sprawling.
As he sniffled his nose the tear level rose:
A torrent created by bawling.

So caught up in hurt with no thought of alert,
He failed to see this tear moat.
Up his body it rose first tickling his toes,
Then his waist and his chest, then his throat.
Then his chin and his lips, an aquafacial eclipse,
Until the sad tide sunk his boat.
Tears flooded his room and welcomed his doom,
For sadly this boy didn't float.

But what of his friends, did they meet their ends,
Or did they just carry on playing?
Well they went to his flat asking where he was at,
And inside his mother was praying.
She told them he died, “He excessively cried,
In this world he's no longer staying,
He heard emo songs which sent him quite wrong,
And that boys is all that I'm saying."