He sat there, listening;
While I poured it out.
Not a crease in his brow,
Nor a crafty glint in his eye;
He just sat there, listening.
I told him about the nightmares,
The monsters lurking under my bed,
And the dirty scars on my arms.
He never looked down at me.
He just looked at me, intently.
And when the words choked me,
He just waited till the words came out.
Then when I had said everything that plagued me,
He looked at me, seriously.
He spoke in a soft tone,
About things that he had done,
When he was like me, lost.
I looked at him for the first time.
I found the listener,
And I listened to him for a while.
He held my hand,
And found me in the darkness,
That I was drowning in.