He was silent,
silently liked violence,
he wanted to speak,
he was too quiet to reach the peak.
Violence and silence,
he liked both,
violence was his raw flesh,
silence was his coat.
Violence was what he fantasied about,
violence made him aroused.
He was so ashamed at his sadistic thoughts,
he always thought it was better not to talk.
Thoughts were what hew had,
many thoughts made him sad,
being silent about them made him feel glad.
He left,
left his little nest,
his nest of silence.
He finally saw some sunshine,
they came back sometimes,
he was like sweet lemonade and sadistic thoughts was his lime,
He's no more silent,
but some times,
very rare though,
he has his sadistic thoughts,
thoughts of violence,
just thoughts,
he is clean cloth and the thoughts are just a small dirty spot,
just thoughts.
Picture from the net - ( http://www.google.co.in/imgres?imgurl=http://i.pbase.com/o4/27/613727/1/58056621.SADLITTLEBOY.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.pbase.com/ces0357/image/58056621&usg=__wB9xuMvBvAoWXFWIK_6j1geEIaY=&h=598&w=658&sz=84&hl=en&start=1&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=UY6LItnOTAVOdM:&tbnh=125&tbnw=138&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dsmall%2Bboy%2Blooking%2Bsad%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-GB:official%26tbs%3Disch:1 )
This is such a lovely poem
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