The blade is dull, the scars are long
From in his soul, he sings his song
That they may see, despite the scars
He still can be, a shooting star

The hateful words, aimed at his heart
Are broken chords, on a broken harp
They have their spite, as it must stay
While his black heart, has turned to gray

He has no joy, but now the hate
Of this one boy, is not so great
His heart less torn, his eyes less crazed
Soon ends the storm, of rainy days

He may be weak, but he will try
To be the streak, across the sky
When his heart's full, he'll loose the seams
And bear his soul, let loose the screams

He looks above, and takes his stance
And will give love, one final chance
He takes the blade, yet stays his hand
But fate is fate, and life still ends

that was bangin

wow another wicked poem, nicely done mate!