Trigger warning: suicide and self harm references.
I know this is a cheesy to start out but... Once upon a time there was a boy... See told you it was cheesy.
Anyways...
You couldn't tell by the way his smile or by the way he acted he'd be different.
You would just think he was a loud, annoying guy just trying to get of your nerves.
You'd never would of been able to tell that his drawings were a cry of help.
You'd never think he grew up in an unstable home.
You'd never think about that.
You'd never cared enough to think about him when you hear his voice a little lower everyday.
Or cared about him whenever you hear his gentle cry in the bathroom or wondered way he wore a jacket or long sleeves even when it was hot out.
You just didn't care.
.
All he wanted was love and all he got was hate.
You heard of a poem by Andrea Infinity called 'She Paints a Pretty Picture', yes?
No? Well go look it up so you can understand the pain the boy felt.
When someone finally put the pieces together the boy had wished he had never laid them out in the first place. Now the love he wanted was too much.
And now the boy is dead.
RIP to Gilbert Beilschmidt.
Now all is said.