Melancholy and gray, blank and boring,
A new room in a new house.
It is a strange place,
Filled with strange people.
A deserted island upon which,
He alone resides.
The sole survivor of his familiar life.
He looks out the window of his new bedroom.
Hoping, yearning, for involvement he tries to
Call to the people outside,
But the island is unforgiving.
His cries never reach the people, for they are lost in the
Seas of self-consciousness and misunderstanding that
Threaten to engulf his island of loneliness.
Head downcast, hair falling over his darkened eyes, and
His slender shoulders slumped, he solemnly endures
The isolation that has been forced upon him,
A burden even Atlas could not bear.
He sheds a single tear that silently rolls down his cheek.
Dripping off his chin, it escapes the clutches of his island
Leaving him alone once more.
With tiny fingers trembling timidly,
He forces himself to unpack the first box,
But he knows no objects can make this island feel like home.
Lost in thought, he turns to notice his parents
Trying to reach the island, trying to rescue him.
He wears a smile like a bandage, to hide the wounds underneath,
Until they are swept away like all the others and he is secluded again.
He wants to escape this barren place
And find his way to a realm where people are joyful,
But there is no escaping this island.
There is no way to link his world with theirs.
He had tried to once, but the bridge he had worked long and hard to build
Crumbled in an instant, under the weigh of betrayal and mistrust.
Lonely now, and forever more he shall remain.