And they All Fall Down

The first bell rings.

His head is bent down, all he can see
are the cracked tiles his feet slap.

His hair hangs low over his face
brown and messy and long.

He clutches his sides timidly
his ribcage thin, his shirt ragged.

The arms that clutch shake,
pale and adorned in slices.

As he walks, a shoulder bumps his.
Profanity and painful words
meet his sorrow.

He squeezes tightly onto his
carry-on item, a gleaming black
demon.

Out it slips, loaded and aimed.

And they all fall down.