The Shadow With Scizophrenia
I walked upon an empty step,
Where a shadowed body was kept.
The shadow was beat,
Turning as cold as winter sleet.
It had bright blue eyes,
That extended all through the skies.
The shadow was nine,
Living to be blind.
I walked to the figure,
As it would evilly linger.
People would laugh at it,
As it snarled and bit.
The shadow diagnosed with
schizophrenia,
Beating itself, the others, as if a
mania.
No one could reach out,
No one gave it water, as it was in a
drought.
I was determined to bring its colors,
Be the one to treat it like no other.
The shadow hated me,
Told me Hell is where I should be.
Not giving in,
Not creating one other sin.
I drew it pictures, wrote it letters,
Tried to blossom its feathers.
Then the day came,
When there had to be an end to the
game.
Not wanting to leave,
Not wanting the devil to its thieve.
As I was bout to walk through the
door,
The shadow came upon me, on the
open floor.
Held out his arms,
As I smiled and lowered his alarms.
The shadow had a name,
Brought about with little shame.
The shadow was a boy,
Played with by the devil as if a toy.
I played with fire,
Burning loosely like a run away tire.
But he finally knew I was there,
Someone who was willing to care.
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