He cuts a figure, sad to say
Of a man whose life was stolen
-he has no life, he never seemed to-
But he breathes blunt optimism
That surprisingly doesn’t choke
Day in day out he mulls over
And turns in a bed he doesn’t own
To mull once again over things
Beautiful- but he is mortally afraid
To rise up and reach for them
He thinks of a woman he wants to love
A woman who has captured his mind
And yet not the soul and heart
He thinks about her everyday like a job
Should she accept him, what would she eat?
In his mind empty worlds exist
And creatures beg to be brought to life
By the crying pen, he looks in askance
For the creature might be too big
To roam in such a small world as his
