The Listener

He listen, but he doesnt understand. He never understands.
He stairs at a board filled with equations.
To stubborn to ask for help or is it pride?
They start to notice his silience of his voice.
he opens his mouth to answer the question.
He sits thinking, then he closes his mouth only to be silient.
His desk is coered in carvings spilling out pencil led and ink.
Everyday waking up knowing the routine.
He itches for something more.
Something more then the scars on his wrist.
Something more then the yelling and screaming.
Something more.





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