a map.

there once was a boy
who lived in a world all his own.
far too social to be alone.
at the drop of a hat,
he had the sun,
and he never blinked an eye.
it seems now all he knows to do
is deconstruct and cry.
only looks of love
or looks of hate
seem to be able
to mark the date.
the calendar pages
continue to blow in the wind,
all those letters he'll never send.

b.a.s.tm.h.c.f.
-i.s.c-

his daddy once told him,
"if you're not living on the edge,
you're taking up too much space."
every time you ask,
that's all that he hears.
he doesn't want your words
as much as you don't
want his tears.

he'll probably never sleep again,
if only for the door.
after all of that,
how dare he ask for more.
horizon up,
lighting down.
to err is human.
don't make a sound.


don't make a sound.
live your hannah.
we are not the same.