I know a lonesome boy with a vapid will,
His fervent eyes of glass spark idle thrill.
Yet he stands and stares at what he knows,
While his mind wanders at what wildly grows.
The speckled luster of twistly blue eyes
Openly waives to demanding grey skies.
The boughs of bushes and vagrant dirt,
Sink low and settle in torpid hurt.
“You are not my home, the home I know,
Leave this place and return down low.”
Withered winds strike his dull skin,
Whilst tense and ease damn within.
He speaks, “I fret not of what you bid,
The beats that hasten are for what you hid.”
Angry smoke locks like a hungry stain,
The waters run heavy in the rotting veins.
“Where’s my home, the home I know,
Where’s my home, the one I owe.”
Thick mire dribbles down his staid face,
While his blood congeals in eager haste.
“Send me home, to the home I know,
I do not like this one, this one with woe.”
I knew a lonesome boy with a vapid will,
And the world he knew, the world he did fill.
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