oh how ironic
the boy with broken eyes
saw the world better than all of us
perhaps he saw it as it was
beneath all the facades
but how do we know what is real
how do we know anything
we dont
we believe we understand
we enjoy feeling some control
but the honesty in this falsehood is that nothing is real
he is real
his view is said to be twisted
from the cracks ripped and teared in his skin
the fractures in his soul
the story goes he sees through the breaks in his mind
he peers out of the gaps in his world
hidden in the crevices of his own head
his heart
a mere twelve inches from his thoughts
beats so loudly
he fears they will hear it, the demons
and as they press their ears to the door
and the ghost turn the ****
he jumps out the window to escape them
falling down to his life
not his death
death is an end
this is a beginning