The lonely heart of a young boy of fourteen years old was there buried under the sheets of the cold bed.
“Blue and sad” were the only adjectives which could describe his gloomy bedroom. Drops of blood could be found on the grey walls, on the furniture around. He always kept hymself inside that dark state of mind, no matter if it was slowly killing him.
He had no friends, he’s family barely noticed him. Sometimes, he looked hymself in the mirror wanting to die
“Someone! Please, help me…” he screamed in his thoughts and then madly hit the mirror, leaving painfully bruises all over his hands.
He wept, begged and fought so hard to free hymself from that horrible place in his mind.
Despite of everything, music and art were always there to rescue him. He spent a lot of time writing songs and singing
“This is freedom itself… my lovely scape from reality…” He whispered to hymself while admiring his poems and songs.
He always knew he had to save hymself no matter what, but everytime he tried to bloom and shine, bad thoughts grabbed him by the neck, crushing his little dreams, beating again his dreamy heart.
Tired of living and being hurt by hymself, he took a bunch of pill, put them straight in his mouth and as they were going through his throat he felt as if he were flying. That day was rainy and cold, but he felt warm in his chest, a burning feeling suposed to kill him, but anyway didn’t
Axl's blog 