It’s these summer days that catapult me back to my school days.

I so innocent and naïve of all the big games played.

I would sit on the grassy banks, eating my ice cream;

thinking that the bleeding boy was part of a game they played.

Two years on the school siren rings of death.

He hung himself because he had no friends.

My ice cream didn’t taste as good as it looked.

And now the summer days fade away,