There’s a little
boy who hides in
the dark corners of
my soul.
He doesn’t want to
be hurt anymore.
I spent eight years
with Beth.
For the most part,
it was hell and
constant pain.
She made nightmares
look good.
I heard the
little boy cry
late into the
silky night,
while snails got
smashed on the streets
of Ventura.
When I drank, which was often,
the little boy seemed
at peace for a while,
while swans were
murdered in Venice,
and I tasted the ashes
of Neruda.
Years flew by
like seagulls;
up
down
and darting.
The little boy
continued to
hide in the
dark corners of my soul.
He wanted to
come out and be loved.
He was thirsty for it,
but there wasn’t
any around.
It was dry, like the
deserts in hell.
It’s too late for
sorries here comes
the plow.
He began to see
the pattern of life.
Some monsters walk in the light.
Vulnerability equals pain.
The little boy got mean.
And now he carries
a knife.
Powerfully penned, Thomas. Tremendous storytelling, precise imagery, a great read my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thanks, my friend.
I didn’t realize I as holding my breath until I got to the end.
Relatable and healing.
Well done, Tomas.
Supurb
Thank you.
“Some monsters walk in the light” —- Sent a chill. I instantly had flashbacks of some of those monsters faces.
.. I’ve never asked anyone this before but do you mind if I put that line on my profile accredited to you? If not it’s ok I understand I just think it’s such a powerful statement. Hell I might even get it tattooed..