Shadows

A harmonious melancholy,

a whisper in the dark,

creeping up behind your shoulder,

reaching out - 

grasping onto nothing,

but air. 

Suffocated within a facade of lies,

Trapped within bars conjured by ones own imagination,

Lies a young boy, 

sitting in a corner. 

Small. 

Still. 

A little Scared. 

He sits away from the others,

from all others in the room -

all of them distorted and morphed into nightmares,

but the nightmares are his own,

and it is he who holds the power to free himself,

But he does not know.

He shivers in fear as he hears them breathe down his neck,

goosebumps forming constellations on his skin.

He lies quiet, afraid to make a sound - 

Maybe if he can't see them, 

they won't be able to see him too. 

He hears them all around him, 

covering his ears hardly helps -

they're all around him, 

they're all in him.

They're all a part of him.

He's a young boy,

he doesn't understand.

All he can think about is where he went wrong,

what was his fault?

But sometimes it's not about the things that you do

Or you don't -

Sometimes that's just how things are meant to be,

Sometimes the voices in your head will be louder than you are.

Sometimes the shadows are all that there will be. 

But constellations are made up of tiny little stars,

all alone, ever burning on themselves.

But maybe, it is all the pain that produces something so beautiful,

maybe it will all be worth it in the end.

The little boy is too young to understand,

he is much too little to see,

that the world is not all cherries and rainbows,

that there is so much more to him - 

so much more he can be.

A garden of roses comes with its thorns, 

the little boy will someday understand - 

That there was nothing that he did wrong,

and nothing that he could have done better.