White noise.
The grey ants racing
Across the TV screen.
Dead,
Meaningless.
The boy stares for a time.
Transfixed on the pixelated blur.
Unaware there may be something
On the other side of the horizontal snowfall.
He misses his chance-
Focusing instead on the external chaos.

This fire,
this fire right here.
Can burn,
can burn in the water.
Don't try,
Don't try to put it out.
You'll yearn,*
You'll Yearn even harder.

A box brings me comfort,
Don't wanna break through.
I'm so very content
Not seeing anything new.
You on the other side-
Stop knocking at me.
I will not come out,
It's you who cannot see.
I know every inch of this box
Like the palm of my hand.
I'm never thrown off guard,
Everything goes as planned. <3

Happiness blocks the art.*
Is that selfish?
Or just plain true?
Messed up minds
have one of their own.*
A delicate talent.
So easy to lose hold of.