Curves and lines,
Shapes and areas,
Crowded around in art,
A creative mind full wreck of youth,
He’s healing.
Being bathed inside of his room,
A room of green,
A room of stale ideas come to life.
He’s got his hand on the future,
But taking the step scares him the most,
He’s ready,
He knows he is,
He’s been through years,
And those years killed fears,
But along with his friends.
Though he’s lost all meaning to losing friends,
He knows they mean well and he’s got more to see,
So watch him heal,
His eyes are more blue than they’ve ever been,
His head is clearer with every sip of bleached river water.

Indents and impressions,
Bends and rounds,
Sending signals of health and healing,
Sent home to where the family under the roof welcomes him inside of his dreams,
So if you’re okay with him,
He’ll take that step to a new day,
A sunny summer day in the middle of winter,
He’ll sleep on a rainy day,
But only be more productive the very next,
He’s doing change,
Allegories and curses inside his brain becoming strangely kind and hopeful,
He’s loving it by loving himself,
In a way of which is hopefully not conceited,
As he hopes he never becomes,
Green envelopes healing boys,
Green screens the depression’s knife from viewing.
Green is the color of winning in his roomy world.