Back of the room, wallflower, seeing all desires.
A longing look, no, a platonic peek,
an alliterated sonnet generalised as a hello,
pining in clasped hands to avoid burning crimson.
Possibly unrequited, is one totally conceded?
Adolescent secrets in academic stature, controversy is afoot;
Never yours, always mine, promises drawn in the sand.

A rejected invitation, too scared to speak out;
Escapes, unequivocally, with flaming purples ebbing on electric blues.
Tells you no, I’m fine, though there is a fine line
between silently pleading and inwardly bleeding.
How can one be a listener when white noise is the focal?
The walls scream ****** ******, the tiles ooze secrets,
what happens between the first and last, well that is the question,
lay the roses and fly the flag, for he was not to blame.

Starting to break through, or so we thought;
Dazzling disorders glamorized wholly through the eyes of misconception.

The poor boy, they say, he should have known better,
Than to play with fire when he was already scarred,
So much affection with so little comeuppance.
Late nights with no calls,
Strangers turning into dust.

He wondered how he could look okay,
The one he once so dearly loved,
Crying his name in the dark of the night.
Not tonight my love, I have a date with the stars.