The Boy
He walks down the street alone, the boy with the black nailpolish. He's all alone at the bus stop in his old jeans and fishnet stockings. Nobody talks to him, the freak with the coal black, lined eyes. Nobody notices, the skeletal boy with the dreadlocked hair. The bus comes and the boy gets on, with footsteps clad in adidas runners. He's heading into another battle with his demons. He looks back at his past, and tears start to fall. He can't trust anymore, nobody at all. And nobody asks him; "Is everything okay?" And nobody hugs him, makes the demons go away. Nobody bothers, to ask his name. Just in case someoone ou there cares... It's Jon.Well this was originally a poem about my favorite artist (musician) Jonathan Davis, but I started to get into it and when I go back and read it I realize that anyone can feel this way. And I hope, that even if you know who I'm speaking of you see this too. Written January 26th, 2002 © on Feb 15 2002 08:20 AM PST 10 • 0 • 1
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"He walks down the street alone,..."