He woke up with empty arms,
Pretended for months He didn’t mind,
But His eyes opened and He realized acting is
for those with much more charm.
So The Boy ran down the street in the dark,
Inhaling shards of ice and His lungs began to bleed,

But He knew the poison’s grip was strong and too lovely,
And when He saw her lying in the wet, gray grass,
He kissed her cheek sweetly and laughed like storm clouds,
Climbing up past the trees, higher, higher, higher still.
She watched The Boy with shining eyes
And cried so she couldn’t see His hurt,

Though she knew she would regret speaking.
The Boy crashed to the ground,
And snapped His brittle neck,
Then stood and walked away
From the girl with the raining face,
Oh, The Boy with the pretty Ivy scars,