‘It’s just comfy…’ ‘I was just in A/C…’ ‘I’m not wearing a shirt underneath…’ ‘It’s lightweight…’ All lies. You could tell if you looked into his tearstained eyes. The stain on his wrist is it really that hard to miss. With his hood raised up and his head down low. The box on his chest with the key. The edge cracked from angry fists that later will just slide through 3 layers of sleeve. Always dark, never close to white.Stains all the way to his shoulders that now carry boulders. But if you opened the door you’d see the Nuse he’s put to use. All fights, no sights. As he pulls the one from the day off, he slides on the old soft serenity and begins the cycle again by tugging that final piece from being the Nuse on his neck to being his calm and hoping to finally have freedom from the days.