The Lost Boy

The Lost Boy


bones scream for sanctions
as Mother Nature creates
this incarceration
pushing joints to the limit
while Father Time reprimands
what’s seen as a gimmick
a cane in hand
finds this boy’s true tune
balance and chaos


smile creeps across
a face unaware of his torture
his smooth blade creating
designs drawn in blood
for its purpose reflects
the shedding
of a past not ready to let go


drip by drip
tears form puddles
at my bedside detailing
layers of failure and deceit
troubling concoctions brewed
by premeditated emotion
to obtain the affection needed
just to keep breathing
and I’m still not living

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