Literature
The Cliff where I would have died
A shiny day it was,
few cloud in the sky,
birds chirping happily.
Upon the day I walked upon the roads,
to a cliff near my home.
There was the forest dear to me,
like another home to my soul:
quiet and accepting,
with colours and acceptance.
Far cry from home,
where screams could await me,
or school,
where insults familiar tore my soul apart,
piece by piece,
like great birds of prey upon a wounded child.
And that was what I was,
a simple child,
with burden far too great,
for a innocent heart to bear.
Far too great,
for even a man, a woman: an adult.
Upon the cliff I came,
once or twice,
maybe even thrice,
and down upon the cliff I would