Sixteen.

Sixteen years, laid to rest,
Forever more at his best.

Youth's grace,
Had yet to leave his limbs,
Tension,
Nt yet etched on his face.

Sorrow took all it could from him,
Left him desolate.

Three words,
Robbed of Breath,
Refused to come,
Gasping in the aftermath.

Pulled the trigger quickly,
Blood Splattered on the wall.

Self-inflicted
His perdition,
In the Bloody Hell
We call Life.

He left one last memory, here,
And then he was gone.