Silence in my head
Ceiling falling on my bed
Is this real? Is it not?
Another cone, it's all I've got
So much feeling, always bound
All the words cannot be found
All alone, locked away
What's to say anyway?
The fear I fight, so hard I try
Reveals the truth, no wish to die
I have many thorns.
Some have always been there.
Some have been placed by others.
Some have simply appeared over time.
But they all have the same purpose.
My thorns are dangerous.
They keep away the unworthy.
The cowardly and weak who do not truly love me.
Who say that I am beautiful,
But are afraid to extend any effort to know me.
My thorns.
They are there so I may finally find the one who is not afraid.
The one who desires to discover the way around them.
He will caress me, not clutch me.
He will feel me, not touch me.
I will be handled with the care I deserve.
But what if?
If I let him in...
If I trust him...
If he learns the secrets
Detachment no longer has friends, only acquaintances.
He now always pulls away when any connection, or as he calls it commitment, is formed.
Detachment is a teenager; he works part time doing the paper run.
Each morning at 5am Detachment would get up and ride his bike around the streets.
He enjoyed the quiet.
The only voice he could hear was his own,
that and the roost birds waking.
Detachment wears large clothing.
His shirt is black with a single skull print on the front; his shirt reaches half way down his knees.
On his legs he wears oversize jeans that fall half way down his bum, and that also have jagged rips everywhere.
Det