The Riot Began on a Sunday Evening
My dearest kin, how deceiving

shout, scream, taunt
Shout. Scream. Taunt.
SHOUT! SCREAM! TAUNT!

Ablaze with yells
Bank money, In-laws from hell
Little draw-backs, taxes of life
It kills them, it murders every night.

It grew and grew
Drizzle to Hurricane
Dazed, bruised embrace

I, myself, a teenage girl of sixteen,
I remained curled in the comforter, cotton was my security.
Laying down by the side of shadow
I whimper and wonder

My tiny boy, my tiny love,
He remains as lonely as I
The bedroom is far from escape

I may be used to walking the desert alone
But my little love, he remains unknown.

And for that first night, millionth life,
I rise.
My movement ripples nothing
But my conscience gaping
Death mission death mission death mission

I refuse to sink.
Pitter patter against the stony floor
My footsteps whisper, but they do not stir.
My dearest kin, how deceiving...

I slip into his life, desiring to sooth his mind
"My love, my love," I coo.
He responds without further ado.
"Geetika?"
I desire a cry when I hear this soft, soft, kitten-like
My boy, my boy, my boy.

I prepare to face PTSD
But all I face is a dream within a nightmare.
"Did you know I got thousand points on fruit ninja this evening?"

I blink.
And blink.
He hasn't noticed a single thing!

They say his specialty is his curse
But I am thanful,
Because he has not heard!

My boy, my boy!
He remains oblivious
My dreamer, my dreamer!
Out of touch of reality,
My little baby.

Numbers and points and games engulf his mind
So consumed
So unaware
But I AM SO THANKFUL!

He hadn't noticed a single thing, my boy my boy, my dreamer...