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It was the last lap of highschool and a boy had dreams. He knew that half his life had been torn away from him but he postponed the pain and somehow thought the abundance of time would provide him with loopholes to take it all back. He wanted to start a blog and paint away all the pain, beauty ,perceptions and fantasies. He wanted to fuse art and poetry on instagram. He wanted to put that lyricism and rage with music. A golden voice and a steel mic then make home out of the stage. He wanted to look for competitions and paint his name on their lips while brushing the dust off his bedpost with a trophy or two. He    had a picture of how to manipulate lenses and shoot his creativity with a camera. Now the only shot he has makes sunset look like a silver wreck. He wrote all his ideas down and let them rest in a temporary comma in a lone corner of that yellow notebook. Mimicking stage performances when nobody was looking. He wanted to tear all the tearstained pages away and start over only to realise that only the dusty covers were left of his sorry book. The place he called home was now so dark he couldn't even tell how many lightyears away it was anymore. Had to start making friends anew but he was a broken Rubik's in an already solved jigsaw. It drove him crazy till the rubber off the tires melted to screeching metal while going downhill. His mind visited the past and burned the bridge but left his body drowning in the present. "Will my eulogy read suicide if I was already dead inside? ",he pondered. He was trying baby steps to walk away from his collapsing world but his feet were too huge for that. He was screaming "help " in metaphors but it only came off as empty boxes in pretty wrappings. They told him writing was an exorcism, but he could only feel the words leave, not the demons. Whoever that boy in the mirror is, I pity him. 
 
                Elliepoet
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