Talking To The Moon
Nico di Angelo declared war on himself,
And he lost all of his wealth.
The war raged on from day to day,
And his body started to slowly decay.
It lasted for about 5 years or so,
And he was his most dangerous foe.
On his face was always a frown.
The war wouldn't end until every single men was down.
The blood that was shed everyday,
Made people stay away,
From the young boy,
That was like a shattered toy.
Nobody seemed to be able to help.
His soul was like tangled kelp.
Nobody tried,
Nobody cared,
For they were to scared,
To get close to the boy that had war within,
For the civil war was making him sin.
Soon it would be too much,
And the young boy would forget how to trust.
He already forgot how to love,
For his soul had flew away like a dove.
He would end the war soon,
But he would take his own life too, under the moon.
The moon was his best and only friend,
For it seemed t have no end.
He talked to it ever night,
And he became more of a fright.
Everyone stayed away,
From the one who had his soul taken away,
By the unwanted darkness,
And was supported with selfishness.
At first he tried to live,
But now he had nothing left to give.
Now he lived a lie,
And soon he would die,
Probably from suicide.
For the insanity washed over him,
And he knew he couldn't win,
The war that he started on his mind.
Soon he was left behind,
In the dust of fallen dreams,
And the agony of his silent screams.
They echoed around his walls inside,
And tore apart what was his mind.
So he talked to the moon every night,
And got into even more fights.
The insanity washed over the young kid,
Suffocating him like a lid.
Soon it became too much to bear,
And he forgot how to care.
He lied to make up for what he lacked,
And soon thought the moon was talking back.
He couldn't remember what was fact.
His so called 'friends' sent him to pack.
They kicked him out of his only home,
And left him in the world alone.
He held conversations with his only friend, the moon.
And wrapped himself in a cocoon.
He listened and did what the moon wanted,
And soon his life was too haunted.
By his silent screams of despair,
For the weight became too much to bear.
It dug into his shoulders,
And it felt too much like boulders.
The weight increased each day,
And never seemed to go away.
He couldn't take the depression,
Or the unwanted tension.
For all he wanted was attention.
But nobody wanted to get close to the boy,
That talked to the moon instead of playing with toys.
The ten year old saw too much,
And never again was able to touch,
Living skin,
For his body was going to win.
The ten year old with no life to live,
killed himself with nothing left to give.