His head, full of dark scribbled clouds,
He turns away, hands covered over his eyes,
Hiding from the staring world,
Sharp eyes staring, glaring, buzzing a hole through his soul,
Burning, acid smelling, skin turning blackened, peeling away
So we can see his heart, his innocent, fragile pulsating muscle,
Beating in the centre of his chest,
Where his pain truly hurts, causing him to double up,
Screaming, shrieking, pitched on a Bb modulating higher and higher
Until the sound is unbearable to all,
We wither like flowers, squirming on the floor
Pollen leaking from our organs
Spilling over the shiny floors,
Of every level throughout his body,
Through his multiple layers of skin.
His limbs begin to jerk, his eye sight swaying,
The blackened scribble from his head
Spilling out from his ears and the ends of his hair,
Dripping down his neck
Slowing
Drying
Dying
Lost in the scribble darkness of someone else’s head.