So many times he sighs in his dreams,

Feeling every awakening pulse, the pulse he always thinks about. 

They do not know the blade in his flesh...

Those in the classroom.

They do not know he spends nights carrying himself through dreams of loving melodies,

A heaven without claws to pester his wrists,

Because then...

There is no snarl of words from those in the classroom.

Where he goes, 

He is good enough to call friend.

But he is broken inside himself to say anything more.

Nothing but...

A broken river with fragmented rocks.

Each piece a speck of himself lost at sea.

But he does not know he makes a girl smile everyday.

He does not know someone too shy...

Writes him a poem near the window of the cold classroom.

He is sinking in the ocean.

She may as well wallow in the green moss down deep with him.

Only then...

Will she give him the letter...

That may just save his life from leaving the classroom forever.