The Painter

There was a young boy, that was born into pain Every night he cried, as he bled down the drain He begged for forgiveness, he pleaded for change All the other students, just thought he was strange So he remained alone, an outcast of sorts But he could not stand, without any supports So he painted a picture, not the normal kind It expressed the pain, of the hope he couldn’t find His gun was his paintbrush, and his note says it all And he painted his brains, all over the wall No one liked his painting, and his note didn’t rhyme But never had peace, been depicted so fine