My Friend At Home
His Short Blonde Mess Of Hair Glints In The Low Lamp Light
He Sits On The Flour Twidling With His Fingers.
He Comforts And Calms Me.
Always Strong.
Always There.
My Friend At Home
Never Diverting His Eyes
Emeralds Of Bright Green Are His.
Eyes That Hold Such Confidence And Cockiness
Eyes Of A Wise Old Man In A Sixteen Year Old’s Body
My Friend Athome
He Cracks And Breaks
His Eyes Reveal Terrors Seen By Few But Effect Many Unknowingly
Blood And Purple Swells Accompany His Face;
His Hands.
He Cries.
I Comfort.
My Friend At Home.
Courtney L. Vaughan