The Victim
He roams the hall alone, with his head hung down.
You'll never see him smile, as if he was born with a frown.
When he walks by all the kids sneer.
From behind he hears some girls whisper,"What a queer."
He never raises his hand to answer a question.
He hopes not to draw any attention.
He won't ever change in gym.
Because compared to him, those other boys are so slim.
He runs home and cries.
Within minutes he picks up the gun, from where it lies.
He lifts it to his head and pulls the trigger.
When your mom tells you about it the next day, you get a cold shiver.
Because you remember this boy and how you made his life so grim.
But how could you help it? Wasn't he the perfect victim?
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