I know a boy. He's a communist.
He wants to die.
I want to watch the sunset with him.
Point out the shooting star.
He wants to listen to punk.
Point out the deep metaphors and symbolism.
He loves me, I know.
He's hurt.
A son of a sociopath and alcoholic.
Never a stable moment.
He's a beautiful person with a soul of gold and hair of the same.
I want him to live
A life where he doesn't want to die
Where he wakes up in the morning and looks forward to the people he will see.
I want him to love like his parents didn't.
I want him to love in the way he's afraid of his love.
I love him.
I see the ocean in his veins. The desert plains on his body.
I see life in his eyes. Begging to get out. Blocked by his fear of love.
I want him to love, for once and forever.
