Smoke riding up in silver-spun clouds,
A certain obsession came over the boy.
Some kind of play that vulnerablility allows,
To fix the pieces of a broken toy.

But shallow thoughts and actions descend,
To torment his heart, held in a vice.
A consequence of aching wounds, opened,
An imaginary friend come to say goodbye.

Temper wrought against the floor,
Fists flared against a door,
Eyes stinging and ready to pour,
Wild screams, throat sore.

Now a boy without a voice,
Lights a candle to keep him company.
In the silence, he has no choice,
Afraid the shadows will find someone new,
And leave...

In the dark is a terrible place to be.