B

' Why is everyone doing this to me?'

He asked.

Eyes, hopeless and hollow,

He walked and walked, 

a never ending stream

of sadness,etched

on the cold, tiled floor.

 He seemed

aimless,

the zest for life far gone,

like a convict,

condemned to death

in a ghostly prison hall.

Head hung low,

arms dangling like dead twigs,
in an aged forest of sorrow.

My heart ached for him,

as he is in his youth,

like I am now

and has a long way to go.

' Uncle, when can I go home?'
I can't say.

' I don't want to be here'
Just hang on.

' I want to talk to my mother'
Later.

' Please,let me out'
Not now. 

Please, please,please...

The young boy whimpered,

 like he would have

when brutal shocks 

rocked him, violently

from head to toe,

in a desolate room,

with clinical white walls, 

and a cold deathly smell

of doom,

seeping through,

every pore,

on the way to his broken soul.

'B', I hope you find peace soon.