Sixteen years of age. The suburb sets the scene.
Sixteen years of rage withheld and concealed.
Doors locked. Curtains drawn.
Preparations made. The axe gets a final trim.
Shadowed figures came at night. The hands would
strike his thighs. The kid would not even
be weeping. This kid pretending he's sleeping.
Kept within his young strained mind all this damn time.
Not a hint at what grew steadily inside.
The hate during prayer
at supper and the surpressed
at school. The need to be able to strike back grew.
Memories of fingers penetrating. Years of
generating emotions functioning as fuel
when this kid walks down his parents room.
Parts of bodies found. The blood
splattered all around
The result of the hate unleashed. Just one shot was heard.
This suburb neighbourhood disturbed. This pained
has found peace. In the backyard. Shotgun at his side.
Difficult to identify. Sixteen years of age and dead.
of rage to an end.
Immaculate Pinetreeroad #930