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A Lonely BoyA lonely boy he sits
There across the room.
I watch him,
Sitting so still and I wonder,
What could he possibly be thinking?
He's staring off into nothing,
Totally oblivious to my watching.
His shoulders are slightly slumped,
And he's barely moving.
All around us the pointless banter barrels on,
Smacking the walls and back to attack
He's the only one who's sitting all alone,
With one exception being me.
Now he's watching the clock up high,
Placed almost on the cieling.
The glaring red numbers blur my vision
And the time slowly ticks by.
Rows of empty wooden chairs surround me,
A sea of ghostly emptiness.
Barely warm in this drafty theater.
Under me my chair squeaks,
And I tense up.
Oh how I hate to be reminded
That I'm really here.
The noise in my ears grows louder,
And I relax into my darker bliss,
My ignorant slumber.
Nothing can be remembered
In this restful place,
A place that only exists in my head.
My mind snaps back to attention.
The boy is now staring at
What a funny, make believe word.
Do we really expect to have it?
Conrol is beyond reason,
There is no such thing as control.
As I sit here and ponder this,
I watch the people around me,
In the drafty echoing auditorium.
I sigh and everyone can hear it.
My pen scratches the paper so loudly
I might as well be screaming.
Is that guy over there glaring at me?
Is that a sneer on that girl's face?
I shake my head and look down again,
My pen can't stop making noise.
Oh, what the hell stop making the noise!
It's so loud now I'm covering my ears,
Oh God please make it stop I can't control it.
I stop and laugh.
What a fake.
I drink in the feeling of imagining,
Imagining that such a thing exists.
I grab the seat in front of me,
My knuckles turning white with agony,
I'm grinding my teeth with frustration.
Why can't I gain control?!
It seems so fucking simple and yet
Here I sit,
Falling apart at the seams.
Pieces of me clunk loudly to the floor
To depression, for creating days without endWake up to the realization that you've been awake
for seconds, minutes, hours.
You've been awake in this warm, dark room
and you don't know how long it's been
but now you're conscious
and it starts again--
the pain, strong and steady, in your chest.
You gain consciousness in this too warm morning
and your thoughts whir in endless loops
because it's either that or face the weight in your chest.
Light breaks though the window, soft and unwelcome
but you take it as a reluctant gift--
a new distraction from the feelings awake in your chest.
Awake, but not conscious.
So you think yourself in circles a little while longer
waiting for those quiet pains
(the constant reminder)
to gain consciousness.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More