Straga Needs Help…

Inside of a bedroom that was large enough to qualify as a luxury apartment, a seemingly fifteen year-old Straga lay on the floor in the dark. 

The curtains were drawn closed, the t.v. was off, and the young boy lay with a pillow covering his chest as he listened to the headphones covering his ears. 

With the setting perfect, and his feelings running low, there was only one thing that he could do. 

Sing until it didn't hurt anymore. 

"My momma told me to make it work~ But Usher told me to let it burn. 

I used to see you call my phone and get butterflies~ These days my stomach turn.

I don't know why I think about you all the time, I was hoping this is love and you ain't just down for the ride.

Tell me, what could make a grown man lay down and cry? 

Maybe what he thought was real love, he watched die-" 

*BANG!*