You were the star of my nightmare box,
a sheepish grin that echoed thoughts
of a slipping grasp and broken ties,
a secret glare that burned through sobbing eyes,
staring through clothing and bed sheets,
restraint obsolete on a drunken summer day.
My words are no match for your fists when they break against mine.
The honesty game: a twisted failure of youth;
my sighs: a scream of discontent
as you persist in the wake of a surreal truth
that shades purpose away from my swiftest goodbyes.
My dreams were of my freedoms,
of honest smiles and crooked teeth
bordered by a stone wall and a golden heart;
my nightmares: my face forever engraved upon yours,
a reality I try to burn when the sunlit hours are upon me.
But I'll never return to the truth: a boy with a gun and a goal,
a girl who can run without a safety net, yet,
with the fear she'll fall behind again,
caught in the nightmare box she calls her head.