He is just a boy
Whose sweaters carries a lot.
Deep inside his pockets
His mind sits with the lint,
And watches itself rot.
His sleeves are made from pain
Crafted into his depression and anxiety,
Sewn between the stitches
Too thin to block the rainy days.
His wrists are too shy
they stray from the light.
Darkness pulled over him like
A blanket of comfort.
His reminder that he's alright.
Already a shadow, he fell too deep.
The cold clamy fingers wrap around
His feet.
Pulling him closer to the darkness
For it's his home.
His sanity, physically sneaking away.
The crack of a gun to begins!...
BANG!
Cutting the finish line, his arms raised.
Insanity linking fingers with his,
A celebration of his shame.
And whispering warmly in his ear,
"Forever, and always here."
He is just a boy,
These things eventually fade...
But darkness is always present
When the sun peeks its face.
YOU ARE READING
Poems: Gade 12- Present Day
PoetryFrom another guy in the world, to you. Words that aren't spoken, but remain true. I hope you find comfort in my poetry too. A rusted connection to my reality, because honestly. I've lost it.
