His name was January, he hates all the merry.
He tried to escape the world, to music he turned and whirled,
Into the video games every night.
He'd never touch his skin in fright of seeing the crimson red that ran down his sister's skin instead.
He admitted to hating people and not caring of what they thought, because at home he used her to his advantage.
He was the only boy at fault. He begged and as soon as his sister left, he was the oldest and dealt with theft off his happiness.
Not that he had any. He tried to hide the real intention for his open darkness, let him down.
His friends laughed yet knew, the situations that ran through his head.
The girl that watched, she knew, everything about those times and sad to say he trusted her with his whole life.
She protected him with her justice. Now, they wondering how they grew apart.
They resume their friendship when around but he doesn't know how far he will go in life.
He is known, as January.
12.29.2013
YOU ARE READING
Decadence Hackneyed
PoetryTo decline unoriginal works bears Decadence Hackneyed. First poetry book in the Expostulate Series. A personal reminder to stay original. Written in 2013-2016.
