He hid behind the hallways,
carrying insults like chains,
every word was a bullet,
every laugh, a blade through his veins.
They silenced his voice with beatings,
erased his dignity with scorn,
and no one reached out a hand,
as if his pain were some form of sport.
Loneliness became his executioner,
tears, sharp knives on his skin;
he wrote in rage on the paper:
“They won’t laugh at me again.”
He hung his hope from a rope,
in a small and silent room;
when the door opened at dawn,
only silence was left hanging.
There were no heroes, no late apologies,
only a body, cold in the dark;
bullying offers no second chances,
only graveyards full of questions.
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Author:
Lore (
Offline) - Published: September 30th, 2025 13:30
- Category: Sad
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Violet_Writes, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments2
A sad poem dark and with little hope. Bullying has been around as long as the race and has always taken its toll. Well written this poem speaks to the gloom of the victim.
This is stark and gothic, Lore...chains, blades, silence, and a rope bearing hope’s weight. A devastating testament to bullying’s cruelty and the silence it leaves. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ I love the gothic edge in your work, I"m really drawn to it and am glad you are on here sharing your poetry with us!
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