He was the type of boy
to search for the meaning of his life
in the cracks of his hardwood floors.
As if anyone can find anything
in those imperfections.
As if anyone can begin to fathom
the intensity at which they try
so hard to mend itself.
The cracks remind him of
his cracked glasses which
render his eyes useless,
causing him to use his hands instead.
He uses his hands to see and
to see is to touch in his mind.
The cracks remind  him of the
lightning shaped crevices that
appear in his bones and lungs
whenever his words get stuck in his stomach.
How can he find life in the cracks
when all he can do is think
of the sadness that comes with them.
Finally he stands, and his hands break.