When they find you, will you scream or will you just let the wind speak for you...
I sit here. (Its a very blunt statement, anyhow.) Alone, for the most part, in a boys home. The point is not to ask me where, or whom, or why. So please keep your mind off it. Anyhow, he's not here, I am. Alone, for the most part. Except a dog. Who can't bear to sit more than a foot from me, who currently resides under this wooden chair. Yes, its halloween. And yes, I've chosen my refuge here. Chosen carefully perhaps. But not much more than by mistake. But in hindsight I'd rather be here, than not.
Anyway, this place reminds me of something I read. Reminds of someone odd. And I weigh my options, because I seem to have options. I weigh my rememberance of a boy who liked to prey on pretty young things, and its much heavier than I origionally thought. Who kept a record (and I'm sure still keeps), of all those he entered. And I certainly remember all the pretty young things, that liked to be preyed upon. Repeatedly. I labeled myself as ingenuity and put a hazmat suit on and wandered in, with bright hopefull eyes. Only to wander out again wearing sunglasses and a look of utter disgrace. And I swear to god my eyes are only as blue as I want them to be when another boy whom I can't label as friend or foe looked into them. But he's now far too far to look into them at all. But that's a completely different boy, and a completely different story. But speaking of eyes, yet another boy still called me up this weekend. And told me how much... he appreciated my company, in his previos state of depression. I said, "don't even..." and he still went on. This boy's eyes tell too much about him, eventhough they are the most decietful shade of clear blue. He asked me if I still didn't get much pleasure out of anything. I didn't have to think, I just said "probably not". It was a terrible question. I don't though, because I focus too hard on one thing I guess. And when you focus too hard on one thing, the rest of it is bleak and meaningless. One day I'll get glasses. I could barely see the chalk board today. I suppose I want someone else, but I can't risk myself yet. I wish for once the right boy at the time would look at me and tell me something I wouldn't scoff at. But most of the time, I scoff because I'm nervous. I don't do anything, and that's, I guess, my problem. I wish, I guess, I can't.
And I still sit here patiently. Alone in a dark room. Too metaphorical to be anything but straight forward. I tried to find the light, but there is none I guess. It's almost seven and that's when he'll get back.
If I told you that I could make the both of us happy, would you believe me? Because I'm talking to someone, I doubt they know they're being talked to.
Anyway, this place reminds me of something I read. Reminds of someone odd. And I weigh my options, because I seem to have options. I weigh my rememberance of a boy who liked to prey on pretty young things, and its much heavier than I origionally thought. Who kept a record (and I'm sure still keeps), of all those he entered. And I certainly remember all the pretty young things, that liked to be preyed upon. Repeatedly. I labeled myself as ingenuity and put a hazmat suit on and wandered in, with bright hopefull eyes. Only to wander out again wearing sunglasses and a look of utter disgrace. And I swear to god my eyes are only as blue as I want them to be when another boy whom I can't label as friend or foe looked into them. But he's now far too far to look into them at all. But that's a completely different boy, and a completely different story. But speaking of eyes, yet another boy still called me up this weekend. And told me how much... he appreciated my company, in his previos state of depression. I said, "don't even..." and he still went on. This boy's eyes tell too much about him, eventhough they are the most decietful shade of clear blue. He asked me if I still didn't get much pleasure out of anything. I didn't have to think, I just said "probably not". It was a terrible question. I don't though, because I focus too hard on one thing I guess. And when you focus too hard on one thing, the rest of it is bleak and meaningless. One day I'll get glasses. I could barely see the chalk board today. I suppose I want someone else, but I can't risk myself yet. I wish for once the right boy at the time would look at me and tell me something I wouldn't scoff at. But most of the time, I scoff because I'm nervous. I don't do anything, and that's, I guess, my problem. I wish, I guess, I can't.
And I still sit here patiently. Alone in a dark room. Too metaphorical to be anything but straight forward. I tried to find the light, but there is none I guess. It's almost seven and that's when he'll get back.
If I told you that I could make the both of us happy, would you believe me? Because I'm talking to someone, I doubt they know they're being talked to.