The Lonely Boy

The lonely boy cried at nightWhile his mother gets beat 

And she thinks it’s her fault

She always thinks she’s in the wrong

He feels helpless, powerless
Such is life
The lonely boy has only friends that are imaginary or related

He’s too quiet

He’s too strange 
The lonely boy gets old enough to shave

Only to realize it doesn’t matter

Nobody ever stays

His best friend is a notebook that he scribbles every thought, every creative line

Hoping to find some sense of validation

Self-worth all the while he still holds his pen the wrong way
The lonely boy watches as his family moves away

Fearing to lose what few friends he’s gained

He stays behind
He finds and loses love often

He always thinks it’s his fault

He’s too emotional

He falls too hard

He says all the right and wrong things

At all the wrong and right times
The lonely boy has greys in his hair

Only to realize it doesn’t really matter

I’m still alone

His friends are mostly married, with children, or growing apart
Depression’s got the best of the lonely boy 

As he writes these words

Pulled over on the side of the road

Music surrounding his ears

Singing by himself

He’s always singing by himself

Because no one really knows him

And he already knows
No one ever stays

Nothing stays the same

It’s the little things that keeps him going

The lonely boy is now a man
He just wants to feel loved but he fears he asks too much


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