EDIT: For anyone else who decides to ask, yes, this is about me. Once again, there was no forethought. Added more stanzas.

At school, he has a life.
Mingling with his friends,

He writes.
Nothing, really.
Just musings of the days gone by.
Days to come.

He sings.
He's in the choir.
did you know that?
Tenor, fourth row.

At home, he's a husk.
"Hi, mom, school was fine."
Sets down his bags,
melts into bed.
And that's the end of it.

Stares at the cieling.
Watches TV.
Plays a video game or two.
That's about it.

Constantly checks his mail,
hoping someone wants to
talk to him.
Even junk mail
is good at this point.

He knew a girl.
Loved a girl.
Lost a girl.
Now falls for any girl
who shows him the least bit

He's alone.
In his mind.
Alone in his room.
He's got his TV, his games.

And that's it.

He's nothing.
He's nowhere.
Until he regains his face,
He doesn't exist.
He's dead.

A faceless being.

Waiting until
he can once again
don the mask.

And feel real.
Last edited by Indiana Jenkins at Oct 10, 2008,