He cries in the lonely corner,
Comforted by the shadow of his own soul.
Thoughts of an everlasting confusion.
Covered in the rags of wounded sheep, the boy weeps dry tears that build
Mountains of nothing.
Screams shout from his head only to hear the silence which is so deafening.
Brutal is the wind, which used to be the comforting breeze,
Relentless is the night that used to be the magnificent light.
Sky so far away only to be seen with the eye and felt through impossible
Wishes.
Alone in the universe
Desolate in his own world
He will die as one.