a low, low lonely boy
sitting at a desk, vices
laid out before him.
there are whispers from
the other room, he can
hear them but cannot
make out what they are
saying. the tones are
disapproving, however,
so one could assume the
worst. one is usually inclined
to only assume the worst.

pants around the ankles, heart
beat slowing from a near sprint
and the illusion of desire now
shattering and raining on the
***** carpet around. the choked
sunlight, what's left of it, collapses
among the shards of fantasy.

a tray of chocolate covered almonds
which was filled with eager hands,
intent on gorging, sits half eaten before
the dim light of the screen
those same eager hands choked the
innocence of the day, slowly,
and those same guilty hands now
hold the face of that lonely boy.