Arms flailed
Black buttons popping off beetle thread
Polished eyes opened to close
Against a cold marble accident
Her accident, his fault
Probably the other way around
But it was the cold cruel hardness of it all
That weighted down the life he hadn’t begun to live.
And so he Sank
Or at least he tried
Prescriptions numbed his water-lunged death
Continually living and breathing
The events that appeared before his shell
A shell to shed, A shell to damage
A shell to bleed in
To call home
But he never felt
So it could never be like home.
His body was before him
The object was his identity
His soul, completely severed
Sitting in the palm of his hand
Squeezing, constricting, in desperation
Trying to bring it back to something eternal
To something that would remain behind when a shell would not.
Orange plastic
Decided 20 years for him
When it was over
The after taste of chemicals was all that was left
After taste, and the buzz left behind in his brain
That eerie noise coming from a heart beginning to heal
More often it was a whimper that escaped him
Sounding like the immediate pain only surprise brings
He burned into a forest fire
He himself a smoldering sea of ashes
Drowning in his past
Yet burning to live
Entirely, completely, in life.
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Submission Name: The boy who lived.
