Oh Clumsy, Clumsy Child, always falling into wild fantasies and Mad Tea Parties.
Always stranded in haunted forests for endless days— Tangled in vines of hurt— Covered in cuts and open wounds. Running away from your own shadows as the raven echoes—
Drowning in oceans of fragmented emotions. So injured, you can’t speak what is spoken. Astray in crowded places where loud souls breathe as your voice fades.
Oh Clumsy, Clumsy Child— Where will you go? Trapped beyond The Hidden Hills, lost your way. Will you ever find your home— Or forever wander along the forest roads?
[people generally think blue eyes are pretty, but his were not. they were not cornflower, sky, baby, indigo, azure. his were iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death.]