FOR THE BOY WHO LIVED
It's square and perfect
For the box you gave me
on the second day of winter break
Back some 600 days ago
It's edges remind me
Of the line, we always tread,
awfully cautious, in the form of whispered words
And school house jokes
It's yellow for the lines
In the streets that should have kept you
from being 72 inches beneath my feet
I still reach for you in the dark hoping you'll show up again
at three am,
but i'm wrong
And i don't wanna be
It's wide eyes sparkle in the sun
Just to take me back to when you weren't gone
However, some of you has always been dead
At least deep down within me
YOU ARE READING
Philophobia
PoetryAssorted 100% original poetry pieces. Also some random excerpts from small stories (also original). Philophobia: (n.) a fear of love, falling in love WARNING: Indirect and direct references to sexual assault, depression, self-harm and suicide
