A Boy’s Deathwish

by Joanna

Everyday daydreams
Filter through
The layers of my consciousness
Until the folding of the cloth
When the wren whistles weakly
The dove details the derision
Early come
Early lose
Mourning not only the spirit
Of one who is called love
But the eyes
And face
And prevalent nature
A thorn amongst thieves
A butcher of his own desires
The man who was called A.J.

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