Dead is the boy who
fears being snatched
if he ran away from home;
you said the ones
under my bed
are even hideous
than those outside
and in the process
I learned to trust you
five years later and
I still can't find
you where you
said we'd meet
I should've stayed
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoezieI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
