Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
He thinks they are whispering that they’re his best friends,
And that they want him to
Do even better
Work a little harder
Stay up a little later
Poor kid doesn’t understand
He’s killing himself on accident
I am out at night because I can’t stand myself.
People are milling on the street. Nobody looks at me. They all look at each other as they pass, and the lights decorate their faces to be tall and luminous.
William doesn’t talk to us anymore.
He left us in the closet when he moved out of the house.
Time tears at our gentle fabric skin.
William won’t let us go in his head.
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