He is hiding.

He is crying.

He is dying.

I tell you that I love the way you draw.

The way you draw,
It's like you're seeing perfection right before you,
And you're not seeing what you're doing,
But rather what you're feeling,
Or imagining.

You're just showing what your mind sees.

I'm blind.
But not sight wise.

I'm blind heart wise.
My heart feels,
Never sees what it is doing.

Maybe that's how I get hurt so easy.

I'm speaking.
But no one is listening.

I'm breathing.
But no one is caring.

I'm smiling.
But no one is noticing.

Why bother anymore?

If all roads lead to Rome,
May I go to Rome?

I no longer wish to be,
Home.