A Broken Boy

I write poems for a broken boy

On a rainy Tuesday night —

Hung breathless by the chaos

I move my rhymes slowly

Without a whimper

Without a cut

My rhythm quiet,

Quiet enough to escape his world

Damage, just enough to cut

Often deep enough to wound

I write poems for a broken boy

On a cold spring afternoon,

Grazed by the breeze

Kissed by winter nightmares

I write tirelessly — without a stop

Pain, enough to spurt words

Often deep enough to wound

I write poems for a broken boy

On most days,

Until my ink dries

And the only shadows left at my window

Are my own

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