Impatient nightmares that no longer wait for sleep
This is all his eyes ever bared witness to
Sitted at the dinner table
His daily bread awaits
A plate full of colourful round pills
His silence is overshadowed by the echoes from his chewing
The only explanation given to the boy about his touch :
By the touch of his hands
Matter will decay
His nose defies the Creator
His nose would rather serve purpose to sniff
The cause being the sad little voices
Whispering in his ear, conspiring with his conscious

Picture the boy writing on paper
Blood flowing from his heart to ink his pen
This is how his poem goes
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