Beautiful dying boy.

Beautiful dying boy,

Your eyes bellow

Your voice constantly in search,

Your skin reeks of rainstorms

Your scent is a tad dead,

And your body is an anchor

between the living and the lived.

Beautiful dying boy,

I’ve felt your presence amidst funerals,

Inside the heads of people whose art I’m too afraid to touch

And beneath the breaths of those who have sunken somewhere between

fighting and escaping.

Beautiful dying boy,

You lurk between the valves of aching hearts

and a rendezvous of forced smiles

Inside happy pills

And broken whiskey bottles on bathroom floors.

Beautiful dying boy,

I’m tired of you finding me

Like a sonnet in the head of a writer in love

I am tired of your embrace,

On days that are longer

Than the pounding of your fist

against my ribcage.

Beautiful dying boy,

In love with beautiful people.

Beautiful dying people,

Alive amidst the lively

Awake amidst the active

Aware amidst the blissful ignorance.

Beautiful dying people,

Home is far from where our heads take us

Home is far from the feeling of a hug

Home is far from comfort and care,

From security and cherished memories.

Home is now a beautiful dying boy.

~sd| Beautiful dying boy.