Drawings

Wondering why
trying to find the truth
Why'd he do it
So early in his youth

What drove him that far
What made him do it
What happened to his life
how had it turn to shit

The price was high
But the price he paid
Maybe we'd know
If only he'd stay

Their is one way of knowing
He liked to draw
He drew what he felt
And no one saw

Angry pictures
People dieing
People beaten
And people crying

Abused and raped
Kick when their down
people who's lives
never came around

His drawings were so descriptive
So well drawn
His drawings tell us
he felt like a pawn

A little piece
In this game of life
In his last drawing
he drew a knife

A little boy sitting
holding it in his hand
thinking of life
in a imaginary land

bloody tears
streaming from his eyes
no one could her
his painstaking cries

Drawing helped him through
But it was only a matter of time
Before he'd die
that friend of mine