The Downtrodden Rises

Right at the bottom of the class,
The wretched little kid belonged,
Innumerable jabs and pokes he let pass,
Just him and his old broken set of crayons,
Solitude brewing a great big storm,
Sheets and sheets painted on with red,
No hint of emotion on his sleeve was worn,
Resound deep inside the smarting words they said!

A silhouette lurks beneath his wounded heart,
None but himself can hear it beat,
Stares at the subliminal little work of art,
At the brink of breakdown deeply breathes,
None left now he finds himself to blame,
The deep deceit in his misery he fails to see,
All he did was bow low as ever in shame,
Only a miracle now would set him free!

At the dusk of his oppression he lies,
On the grass looking up at the sky,
No escape from his torments however he tries,
He wonders how it would be just to die,
With none to mourn, none to weep,
No epitaph on his cold lonely grave,
No flower to adorn him when he's asleep,
Can't for a bit of warmth this cold man crave?

With spite and hate in his cold bosom,
He walks away, a sense of urgency in his gait,
He swears to tackle this all consuming spasm,
The hour is high, got not a second to waste,
When detest and deceit is all you've seen,
You're not to blame, You're no more human,
When none care for who you are, where you've been,
Treated like a man-devouring caiman.

With a flick of his wrist a man is slain,
His throat slit with the sharpest of knives,
Sharpened on his own rough trysts with pain,
He steps over the man, more lives to seize,
BEWARE BLOODY SWINES, YOU COME NEXT!
He laughs with a wicked gleam in his eye,
Another one goes down as the world stares vexed,
Scared to death, they know they'll die!

Amazing how changes arise at the blink,
From a milk-feasting cat to a blood-drawing feline,
With the gore adorning him like bling,
And he carries on with no regret, over rugged terrain!