I can not find the way back home I am walking through a dreary and desolated forest alone, on a path that guides me to seemingly eternal darkness On this journey, I bump into a disturbed reality rooted in the ground like an old somber tree It is a sentence, reading an aching truth "Thirteen year old little boys do **** themselves." Terrified, I continue on my way All alone, or so I think The face of a ghost or maybe a memory creates a single hue lighter than the darkness It is that thirteen year old boy he comes with a name and a presence engulfed by sadness I walk through this boy that blocks the path He gives me no direction, no answers only recognition Through him I see the only light on this lonely path Through him only, I will find my way back home
it has been a very long week, but writing helps this tragedy feel a little more bearable