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Old October 6th, 2005, 07:57 PM  
Anonymous
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The wind sweeps across the demented, teenage boy's face. His black hair whistles as the thorned plants bleed scarlet red ink from thier sharp edges.
He stares down at the ground waitng to be called on. Unfortunantly he blends in so well in the dark. Inside his mind is an angry mob fighting over nothing. He stares down at the palms of his gnarled hands. The cuts and bruises still mingle down his arms. He slowly waits amongest the thorned bushes waiting until he expresses an emotion strong enough to end his life.
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