Thyme
He heard voices
That said to
Die,
Sometimes even
Kill.
But he wouldn’t listen
He’d slam his head
Against anything;
Tables, Chairs, Walls,
The Television, The bed, The floor.
They had to wrap him
In bubblewrap.
He’d beat his brain
Until the voices were
Gone-
Sometimes hours,
Sometimes more.
All he did was fight.
His bruises made a
Beautiful
Crown.













