There was once a man
that asked a boy a question
"What is your story boy?"

"Boy"
he said

To the man
he thought he was

He answered
like a procrastinator
on a deadline

"I don't know..."

Like an unfurnished house
his structure
was just the facade
of a lazy architect
Painting his cracks
with laters and tomorrows
to hide
his empty rooms

"What is my story?"

I ask
as I look for the answers
from the furniture
of others

As they
are the lessons learned
from their own story

And 'till this day
I ask that question
to the boy
I once was